0800-Rent-A-Hero
by brainthief
Summary: Magic can solve all the Wizarding World's problems. What's that? A prophecy that insists on a person? Things not quite going your way? I know, lets use this here ritual to summon another! It'll be great! - An eighteen year old Harry is called upon to deal with another dimension's irksome Dark Lord issue. This displeases him. EWE - AU HBP
1. Ring-ring! Hello?

**Disclaimer: **The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 1 – Ring-ring! Hello?**

A man-sized thundercloud hung in the centre of the Granger's living room. The viciously boiling mass of dark grey heavily contrasted the calm and soft pastel colours of the couch cushions and the sizzling arcs of electricity left angry burn marks on a nearby painting of what had previously been a very peaceful nature scene.

Like a vacuum cleaner in a doll's house, the cloud was sucking the very air out of the room. Many a bauble or trinket went flying, to be swallowed by the obviously magical construct.

Harry felt his hair and clothes being rustled by the wind and he cradled little Teddy as close to his chest as possible, shielding him with his body. Desperately he wished he could take the both of them out of the room, but the door through which the elder Grangers had managed to flee was on the opposite side. He didn't dare cross with everything but the furniture flying around.

The noise was incredible: all the sounds of an indoor thunderstorm, edged with an unnatural high-pitched whine, like a swarm of Cornish Pixies ice-skating across a chalkboard.

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and with his free hand he grabbed hold of an oak bookcase, his grip so tight that the wood groaned under his touch.

A standing floor lamp tilted precariously, fell with a crash and was dragged across the floor until it picked up speed and lifted off completely. For a moment the cord drew taut and the lamp remained suspended in the air, tethered like a kite, until it detached from the wall socket with a snap and disappeared inside the cloud.

Wide-eyed, Harry watched it all happen. Whatever the thing was, once it got hold of something there was no retrieving it.

"Harry!" Emma Granger screamed from the open doorway where her husband had dragged her out into the hall, "What the hell is that thing?"

"I don't know!" he yelled back, frustrated. "I've never seen anything like it!"

The cloud broiled. On the other side of the room a large plant that had been on the verge of toppling over suddenly straightened again, though the leaves still looked on the verge of abandoning the stem. The bookcase Harry was holding on to, however, started vomiting books, the volumes hitting Harry in the head and shoulders.

He could feel the bruises forming and instinctively hunched his shoulders. Instead of relying on his single arm to anchor him in place, he braced both legs and tried to flatten himself as much as possible.

"Fuck," he muttered, when he was forced to sway to the side to avoid a paperback novel hitting him in the face.

With his elbow he hastily shifted some books aside until Teddy could be awkwardly shelved in between dentistry journals and a dictionary, the space closed off by Harry's stomach. This freed his second hand to grip onto the bookcase as well.

The suction was incredibly powerful and Harry was only just able to keep himself in place. He didn't dare try for his wand, as either it would go flying before he got a good hold of it, or he would himself without two hands to keep him where he was. With his luck, probably both.

"Get out of there!" Emma screamed again, panicked.

"How?" he yelled back sarcastically, but with a hint of fear. Like that hadn't occurred to him before.

The cloud broiled again and the far side of the room calmed down even more, enough for Emma to peek around the doorpost. Harry was not so lucky and his thighs were impacted by heavy, leather-bound volumes of an encyclopedia that suddenly went flying.

The pain paled next to his worry when he could feel invisible tendrils start to play with the flapping edges of his shirt. Twice now talking had made the thing pour on the power. He resolved not to make another sound.

Stroking, almost caressing, the tendrils went up and down his back, butt and legs, sending ice-cold shivers up his spine, until one came in contact with the bare flesh of his ankle. Like a snake, the tendril swiftly coiled around it and drew taut.

Time stopped for a moment as the universe seemed to hold its breath and Harry's eyes went impossibly wide.

The tendril yanked harshly.

With a yell, Harry lost his balance and only his awkward grip on two shelves kept him from tumbling over. It did, however, expose the shelf Teddy was hidden on. The toddler slid across the shelf before his feet came to a stop against a protruding journal, barely keeping him in place. His big blue eyes looked uncertain and his hair was slowly shifting between black and mustard yellow. Clearly, he was enjoying the slide and playing hide and seek, but found the noise and mess off-putting.

The toddler kicked his tiny feet, dislodging the journal he rested against even more.

Fear coiled in Harry's gut and he desperately shook his head, mouthing, "No, no, no!" over and over as he silently urged Teddy not to do that again. He tried to edge closer and hide the little tyke from whatever was happening behind him, but the tendril around his ankle would not let go and kept yanking and dragging his leg until he had to keep his weight completely on the other. Desperately he searched for something, anything to help him, to hold Teddy, to kill the whatever-it-was-

Teddy cooed, gurgled and happily kicked with all the force his sixteen-month old legs could manage.

The journal gave way.

A shot of adrenaline caused his heartbeat to spike and Harry lunged for the boy – consequences be damned.

He caught him in mid-air and immediately dropped to the floor, landing on his side with Teddy cradled protectively in his arms. Without anything to hold on to, however, they were pulled with increasing speed toward the thundercloud.

The skin of his arms burned from being dragged by his feet across the carpet and his eyes wildly darted around, looking for purchase, something to hold on to. Most of him, however, was focussed on the toddler in his arms and he involuntarily squeezed the boy even tighter. He didn't know what was happening, but he needed to keep his godson safe. Nothing was more important than that.

Now that it got a hold of Harry it seemed the cloud had lost interest in destroying the rest of the room. From the corner of his eye he saw both Emma and Dan cautiously peeking around the doorpost, looking horrified.

It gave him an idea.

In a single smooth movement he rolled onto his back and followed through by swinging the arm cradling Teddy, bodily throwing the boy at the Grangers. With both hands free, he reached for the wand up his sleeve and pointed it at the flying boy. "_Depulso!_"

The Banishing Charm hit and his godson went rocketing towards the doorway. Emma caught him and staggered backwards into Dan's open arms from the force of the impact.

A sense of satisfaction bloomed in Harry's chest and he grinned viciously. Take that you miserable piece of-

The cloud sucked him into the broiling dark.

* * *

The sensation of being forcefully sucked through a straw was much like Apparition. There was no light or sound or smell. Instead, it was pitch black and silent as the grave.

The squeezing, however, was supremely uncomfortable but all the same familiar. Harry held his breath, knowing he had to wait it out. And wait. And wait.

That's when the differences from Apparition made themselves known.

A twitching of the straw by his left arm felt like it suddenly formed a cheese grater on the spot. His elbow burned as a strip of skin was sliced to ribbons in less than a second. As they were torn off by the friction, Harry could feel the cold of the void around him soothe the burning for a split-second before blood welled up, making it just feel sticky and wet.

That's when the pain hit in full force.

The first slice was followed by another and another. His clothing tore and blood streaked in rivulets down his shirt and pants. The pain built and built.

Harry's mouth opened wide, muscles drew taut in his neck and his hands balled into fists. His back arched until it felt like he was putting his entire body behind the intent of screaming.

But just like Apparition there was no air to draw breath with, so the scream never came.

More than anything else that inability to do something as basic and primal as screaming in pain drove down how truly helpless he was. Manically, Harry flailed his arms and kicked his legs, flinching from every new cut and slice. His body contorted hideously, desperately trying to get away from the torment.

The squeezing just got tighter and tighter as if the straw was shrinking, until there was a bump, like crossing from a hose into a hydrant.

Unlike the straw, the hydrant didn't give and Harry felt himself being physically forced into a too narrow tube.

He didn't fit.

There was a tearing feeling as his right shoulder dislocated, but the sharp pain when his left clavicle broke came only moments after. Like an egg being squeezed in a fist Harry felt he was on the verge of violently imploding. First one rib snapped, then another and had any sound reached his ears the wet snaps alone would have made him retch.

But there was no sound and other than blood, tears and bits of shredded skin and clothing nothing else to mark his passage.

The final difference from Apparition was that it was not over quickly. The sucking and grating and popping continued on and on and on...

Something in Harry gave.

When he had learned he was a horcrux Harry had resignedly set out to die. When Voldemort tortured him in the bowels of the Ministry Harry had wished for Dumbledore to finish it, to take the monster with him when he died. But here, in this void, where never-ending pain was all he could feel and dream of for the future, where there was no reason or adversary to outwit, Harry's wished for death to take him for himself.

In possibly the most cruel twist of fate imaginable, the moment he truly gave up the vortex spat him out. The bloody mess that was left of him impacted a hard surface with a splat.

While the sound registered in his ears, the bone-jarring impact didn't even rate a raised eyebrow compared to the pain he was already in. Instead, Harry reflexively tried to finally unleash the scream he had so longed for, the scream that he was due.

Instead of sound, a torrent of bloody chunks exited his mouth and cramps and tremors wracked his body. His muscles clamped so tight that he was unable to even expel a breath and was left with his mouth forced open as wide as it could go, muscles corded in his neck and a terror-struck expression on his face.

Unable to cope he felt unconsciousness beckon and he grabbed onto it with desperation born of terror.

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of his own moans. Conscious thought was a while in coming, but when it finally did return after an indeterminate amount of minutes, the fact that he cried out so loud that he woke himself out of unconsciousness worried him a great deal.

Then he remembered the pain and while his worry did not lessen, he at least felt justified in his behaviour.

He was in a bed. The linens were soft, the sheets slightly coarse wherever it reached his bare skin, which was in odd places on his torso and legs and they smelled familiar...

"Finally waking up, are we?" came the familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey from beside the bed.

Oh. He was in the Hogwarts Infirmary. Again.

His throat burned and as Harry tried to answer all he produced was a croak.

A harsh cough caused his muscles to clench painfully. Instead of speaking he just moaned miserably.

"It would be unwise to speak for the moment," the nurse said in her oh so adorable bedside manner.

Harry weakly glared at her as he violently repressed the urge to yell at her _not to ask any bloody questions __then_.

"In fact, I'm sure you would be quite better off asleep just now."

Instinctively Harry shook his head, causing a tearing sensation in the skin his stiff neck and he winced. Still, he was adamant he didn't want to immediately go to sleep again. Sleep would make him remember the pain...

Madam Pomfrey scowled at him and threw her hands in the air. Muttering something about stubborn idiot patients with no regard for their lives or health she bustled away.

Harry tested what in his sore body still worked.

Everything ached horribly and that moving was definitely ill advised. Still, the world was slightly blurry, but his surroundings were unpleasantly familiar. He needed his glasses

With slightly awkward movements, Harry hesitantly reached for the bedside table where he could usually find them after waking up here. Fortunately, aside from the full body ache and some protesting muscle cramps he could do so without screaming in agony. Unfortunately, his glasses weren't there.

"Croak," he complained, drawing the attention of the nurse who determinedly came striding in his direction. Instinctively he flinched back a little. Merlin, but that woman was frightening.

It seemed this was one of her better days as she handed him a cup of water with a straw. Greedily he sucked on it and let the cool water soothe his parched throat.

"Slowly," the nurse cautioned him – as if he didn't know that – but he slowed his drinking to a small trickle until she stopped looking like she would take the water away again.

She made some approving noises. "Very good. Can you tell me your name, young man?"

Harry blinked. That seemed like an odd question to ask. "Madam Pomfrey?"

His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

"Yes, I'm the healer here at Hogwarts. Have we met? I'm sorry, but I don't recognise you."

"What?" Harry asked, very confused now. "It's me, Madam Pomfrey. Harry."

Her expression remained pinched, but her cheeks pinked slightly. She bustled out of his line of sight to appear on the other side of his bed. "I'm sorry, but that's still not ringing any bells. Harry who?"

Well, if she was that forgetful she deserved to be played with. "I think I'm offended. I've been here often enough."

"Yes, well, aside from Miss Potter's record-breaking streak of life-threatening injuries I don't actually keep track of who visits here the most."

A lead weight settled itself in his stomach and Harry stared at her incredulously. _Miss Potter?_

"What happened?" he asked instead, "How did I get here?"

She frowned. "I don't know exactly. Professor Dumbledore brought you in, though he didn't say where he found you. Are you saying you don't remember?"

Hesitantly he shook his head. He was going to have dinner with the Grangers and then... a thundercloud? Or something?

The nurse looked at him with pursed lips. "Well, I can tell that you were exposed to a great amount of Dark magic, though I'm unsure as to what spells exactly."

She hesitated briefly, but then clinically and dispassionately started listing a litany of injuries. "You had nineteen broken bones, with four broken multiple times and three pulverised completely. There were a multitude of cuts, with your skin literally flayed off in some places. A collapsed lung and pierced bladder with your throat both collapsed and pierced. A great many blood vessels were burst, though fortunately your major organs seemed mostly all right besides being some bruising after being tossed around inside your body. One of your testicles was ruptured. Finally, your nervous system looked like someone had set it on fire."

Harry's face paled as he listened to her list more and more injuries and he was desperately trying to remember what the hell had happened to him. It sounded like he had been tortured and badly at that. But he would remember something like that, wouldn't he? Had a thundercloud done this to him?

"The good news is that I managed to repair all of it, or am currently in the process of doing so."

Harry let out a small sigh of relief but wasn't really surprised. It was Madam Pomfrey after all. She'd always patched him right up.

"However, there were some side-effects."

Harry stilled and his eyes widened. It felt like his heart skipped a beat. His throat was suddenly parched again, forcing him to swallow. "What kind of side-effects?"

"As I said, whatever happened to you, Dark magic was involved. Those kind of wounds are notoriously hard to heal."

Panicking, Harry brought both hands up to his face. His arms were covered in bandages, but he still counted all ten fingers. Frantically he started wiggling his toes. Everything _seemed_ to still work all right...

"There was scarring, Mr... Harry. Severe scarring, if you'll permit me to be blunt. You are whole, with all your extremities intact, but your ordeal has left marks all over your body."

Harry choked back a hysterical sob. Marks. Such a marvellous turn of phrase. He'd been exposed to Dark magic before, and that mark had ruled his life for close to seventeen years.

Merlin, what the hell happened?

"I, um..." To his horror, he noticed that he was breathing so fast that he was on the verge of hyperventilating and he forcibly took control of his lungs in an effort to calm down. In and out. In and out.

Fuck, at the tender age of eighteen he was a new version of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Do you-" He coughed. "Do you have a mirror?"

She looked him over as if judging if he was going to pass out if she either acquiesced or denied him his request, but eventually relented and disappeared into her office to fetch him a mirror the size of a small book.

Harry fumbled with it, clumsy with his hands covered in bandages and his muscles still occasionally twitching. Eventually he placed it face down on his chest so he could get a good grip on it with both hands slowly tilted it upwards and stared.

For once he didn't mind his blurry vision.

Most of his face was bandaged, besides essential orifices, but his chin and the top of his head were clear. There were angry red lines on his jaw, disappearing under the bandage over his cheekbone and the one covering his neck. Harry counted four. It reminded him of the white cutting board in his kitchen at home after slicing a few peppers.

However, what really startled him was his hair. It was grey. Surrounded by bandages it looked exceptionally messy, but it was streaked with white and darker stripes.

Harry furiously blinked away tears. Even his hair was scarred.

Frightened, he let the mirror fall back on his chest and slumped into his pillows.

"Perhaps you'd best get some more sleep," Madam Pomfrey suggested.

Harry looked at her pleadingly, not sure at all what it was he wanted but didn't protest when she tipped a small flask over into his mouth.

The syrupy taste of Dreamless Sleeping Draught coated his tongue.

Harry didn't fight the surging drowsiness. Hopefully this would all turn out to be a weird dream.

* * *

Several times Harry awoke only to be put back to sleep in minutes. Finally, however he opened his eyes and felt much more like himself.

Most of the bandages around his torso and legs were gone, though his glasses were still missing, but he didn't let that stop him from inspecting the damage.

It was much as Madam Pomfrey had said. He was scarred. He wasn't Moody quite yet, but lines criss-crossed on every part of his body and where skin had been regrown they traced areas like landmarks on a map. Some were an angry red still, but most of them had sunken into his skin, forming a recognisable pink that he feared would never fade away.

For the first time he wondered how long he had been in the hospital. He remembered several days passing, but with his injuries as severe as the nurse hinted at he had undoubtedly been unconscious long before that. A week must've passed at least. Maybe even several.

A small hand mirror lay on the bedside table and Harry hesitantly lifted it to inspect his face, fearing it would look like so much hamburger all the while.

It was better and worse at the same time.

His face still looked like a face. It just didn't look like his own. Green eyes were offset by angry red lines of scarring. The familiar lightning bolt one was only partially visible as two thirds of it was obscured by a new one. Worse, his jawline and cheekbones looked different, as if Madam Pomfrey had regrown his bones without knowing for sure what they were supposed to look like.

The mirror dropped from his unresponsive hands and clattered to the floor. Harry felt an urge to smash it, but a very similar scene at the end of his fifth year stayed his foot.

Feeling faintly disgusted, Harry covered himself with the sheet once more. He wanted to hide under the covers in a childish effort to pretend this was all a bad dream. For a moment he allowed himself to do so, until familiar sounds and smells protruded into his brain and an urge to move, to run, to escape filled him.

He always felt like that here – he didn't _like_ Hospitals – but this time it was much stronger than ever before.

Cautiously he peeked from between the sheets, but the nurse was nowhere to be seen. Well, if he was ever going to get out of here, now would be the time.

Except... he was practically naked apart from the flimsy hospital gown and there were no clothes in sight. More worryingly, neither was his wand.

That was a problem he could _do_ something about though, and Harry grabbed the opportunity like a lifeline.

"Um, can I get help from a Hogwarts house-elf, please?" he spoke hesitantly.

A pop sounded to his left. "Master calls for Tilly?"

The high-pitched voice reminded him so very much of Dobby that Harry felt a pang shoot through his heart and he swallowed back a sob. While he saw Kreacher regularly, his croaking made him sound so very different. This was the first time since... that day that he heard such a young and squeaking voice again.

"Hello Tilly," he said a little wistfully, "My name is Harry. I can't find my wand or my glasses and I don't have any clothes so that I could go look for them. Do you know where they are?"

The little elf blinked his tennis-ball sized eyes and tilted his head. "Is Master a student?"

A corner of his mouth lifted. Hermione had certainly pleaded for hours to return to Hogwarts and while Ron had caved to his new girlfriend, Harry had put his foot down. She had, however, got him to agree to study on his own to take his NEWTs at the end of the year. Her parents were very encouraging taskmasters while Andy Tonks proved herself quite the tutor.

"Not for a while now, Tilly."

The elf frowned. "Is master a Teacher?"

He bit back a snort. "No."

The elf pulled gently on one of his ears in agitation. "Then where should Tilly go look for Master's things?"

That... was an annoyingly astute observation. "That's a good question, Tilly. I was hoping you'd know where they are, but since you don't I'll just have to make do for the moment. Could you bring me some clothes, though? Things that nobody uses any more, that got left behind. From the Come and Go Room, maybe?"

"Tilly can do that." With a happy bounce the elf popped away, to return a few minutes later standing triumphantly on a pile of both muggle clothes and wizard robes two feet high.

This time Harry did snort and quickly pointed out several items that looked worn but were otherwise in decent shape. Again he felt the loss of his wand as he had no means to resize them, but Tilly was very willing to help him out.

"Are there any shoes there that would fit me, Tilly?"

His head bounced up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Tilly finds shoes for training and slipping and booting and heeling."

Harry blinked and forced himself not to laugh. "I'd prefer trainers, Tilly."

The elf obliged and five minutes later Harry was comfortably dressed in well-fitting second-hand clothes.

"You're amazing, Tilly," he said, causing the elf to beam. "You've been a great help."

Suddenly the elf went shy and started shuffling his little green feet. "If Master can't find Master's things then Tilly could get glasses and wands from the Come and Go Room too?"

"That... might not be a bad idea. If nobody uses them anyway, I'll at least be able to walk around without running into things."

"Tilly go search," he announced enthusiastically.

Finding glasses that worked for him was decidedly harder. However good the elf was with clothes, he had no idea about prescriptions so in the end he just brought a small pile over and Harry started trying them.

There weren't very many – how often do you lose a pair of glasses anyway? – and most didn't even come close to his prescription. Two different ones were obviously enchanted to see through clothes – inevitable in a school filled with hormonal teenagers – and Harry would now forever know what a house-elf looked like naked.

He did not foresee a sudden surge in wizard-house-elf relationships based on this new information.

In the end he settled on a set with horn-rimmed frames – reminding him of Rita Skeeter – that he thought would make him look ridiculous. It allowed him to see though, if not as well as his usual glasses so it was better than nothing.

Finding a wand was nearly a bust.

He'd always been picky – even his first visit to Ollivander's took close to an hour – and none of the wands Tilly brought responded to him. Worse, most made him feel uneasy. Since most of these wands were probably hidden on purpose Harry had some very unpleasant thoughts on why they felt that way.

Frowning, he stared at a twelve inch length of ash in his right hand. It was the best of a bad lot.

"This'll have to do then," he murmured.

Movement from the corner of his eye made him realise that Tilly was feeling unsure of himself so he quickly tried to calm him down.

"You did very well Tilly. Better than I was hoping for, really. Thank you very much."

The elf choked out something even higher pitched than normal, obviously emotional, before popping away. Harry stared at the empty spot of floor.

He was alone again. Come to think of it, that was decidedly odd. How often was the Hospital Wing unattended?

Quietly, he left through the double doors to wander the empty halls of the castle once more. Moving hurt a little, but it was nothing he wasn't used to.

Ruthlessly he quashed the surge of memories of bloodied stone and sounds of screaming. They were the main reason he had been adamant about not returning to school. He didn't want to walk past the places where the bodies had lain; didn't want to see the forest where he had willingly walked to his death.

Quashing the memories, however, forced him to confront his current predicament

What the hell had happened to him? He remembered some sort of sucking thundercloud at the Grangers that tried to eat Teddy and then pain. Lots and lots of pain. Shuddering, he tried to remember anything but that. It was in vain: there was nothing until he woke up.

Madam Pomfrey hadn't exactly been a font of information, knowing only that he'd been brought in-

He stopped dead in his tracks.

What in the name of Merlin? She'd said he'd been brought in by Professor Dumbledore. Someone who Harry viscerally remembered being murdered in front of him years ago. Had he heard her wrong? He must have, but then there was the frightening fact that she hadn't recognised him. At all. And her mention of a Miss Potter, someone who he was quite sure didn't exist.

"Tilly," he called out, voice unsteady and leaning heavily against the wall. The elf appeared in seconds. "Can you find me a recent newspaper?"

Pop. The sound of heavy, somewhat panicked breathing. Pop.

"Yesterday's paper, Master Harry."

With jerky movements Harry accepted it and clenched his teeth as he searched the front page for the date.

June 25th, 1996.

Harry felt as if someone had drenched him in ice water.

Time-travel.

He was back in the hellish summer after Sirius died. There, the Prophet was nattering on about the Chosen One and... the Girl-Who-Lived?

In a daze Harry read through the article, and then several more, detailing how Iris Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived was the only one who could save them from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The information he was reading just didn't add up and he felt like his brain was stuttering, because this didn't make any sense! What the hell had happened to him?

Finally getting his feet under him again, Harry determinedly strode to the Great Hall. Regardless how empty the castle seemed, there had to be someone there. Someone with answers.

* * *

He was right: the corridors were empty, but there were people in the Great Hall. As soon as he opened the door the entire Order of the Phoenix as he remembered them stood and pointed their wands at him.

Harry just stared.

He was seeing dead people. Vance, Diggle and Moody. Dumbledore. Remus. Tonks.

Bloody buggering fuck, he was standing right in front of little Teddy's parents. And judging by the distrustful looks and pointed wands, none of them recognised him.

Dumbledore, ever the diplomat, broke the tense silence first. "Ah, it seems our mystery visitor is awake. Won't you please join us?"

For the first time Harry realised that everybody was sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, with Dumbledore in one of his extravagantly decorated conjured armchairs at the head.

Still, these people made him uneasy. It wasn't just the pointed wands, which they were slowly lowering at Dumbledore's urging; it was that there were dead people among them and how it was immediately obvious that they didn't know him. Despite the familiarity of their faces he didn't know these people either.

So instead of taking the seat next to Dumbledore that the old man was gesturing at Harry sat at the Hufflepuff table where he could keep them all in sight.

They didn't like that. Dumbledore simply looked disappointed. Moody he could see tensing up for a rant on how he was dangerous. Time to nip that in the bud.

"What's going on?" His voice was loud, and somewhat raspy since it was his first time raising his voice since he woke up. It caused everyone to quiet down and tense.

Dumbledore, however, looked unruffled. "An excellent question, and one I would be more than happy to answer. However, first introductions are perhaps in order. I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry stared at him. He had some very mixed feelings towards this man, and the fact that he remembered touching his broken body at the foot of the Astronomy Tower didn't help any.

"I know," he said finally. "I'm Harry." He was not throwing the Potter name out there with so many questions swimming in his head. "Now, what's going on?"

Instead of taking offence at his curt tone Dumbledore looked delighted. "You've heard of me? Excellent."

He shifted as if making sure he was comfortable, steepled his fingers, and took a deep breath. To Harry's utter and complete bewilderment, he then started giving a summary of the first war with Voldemort. How the Ministry had been on the verge of collapse until Iris Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, had saved them all. Fast-forward thirteen years and how Voldemort used some Dark ritual to get him a new body. And how, only weeks ago, the man had been exposed in a running battle in the bowels of the Ministry building.

"There was a prophecy, you see, made before even her birth. It was locked away, deep below the building. Very few even knew it existed. Voldemort found out and these good people here fought him over it."

"We won," he said, but he did it with a grimace. "Unfortunately he had a backup plan. Sybill Trelawney, the Seer who made the prophecy was kidnapped while we were all engaging his Death Eaters. Thus, while it had been a secret, Voldemort now knows the prophecy. Worse, he leaked it to the press, so now _everybody_ knows the prophecy."

Harry stared at him, open mouthed. It was surreal to hear all the pain and misery that was his life – or Iris Potter's life – summarised so succinctly and even more surreal to then have him recite facts that were wrong. That wasn't how it happened. He felt like he was dreaming and any time now the Bloody Baron would float through the wall carrying a vat of raspberry jam and start a food-fight, or something equally ridiculous.

"That is a fantastical story," he heard himself say, disbelief that this was _actually happening_ colouring his voice, "but where do I fit in? Why am I here?" Oh, the irony.

"That little history lesson was important, because the public is clamouring for Miss Potter to resolve the situation, whereas she simply isn't ready. She is only fifteen years old. People, however, don't care. So we, the Order of the Phoenix, sought to help her."

Perhaps Dumbledore could sense his impatience, because he started talking quicker. "We recently got access to a large library with numerous never-before seen texts. One of those detailed a ritual to call for aid. After a long debate we decided to enact it. It brought us you."

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth but closed it again when he didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A ritual transported you to Hogwarts. Judging by the fact that you knew me, but I don't know you and more importantly that you knew Poppy Pomfrey, who doesn't know you, the world you come from is similar to ours."

Harry's mouth hung open. "The world I come from?"

"Ah. When I used the world transported I was perhaps a tad unspecific." Dumbledore removed the glasses from his nose and absently cleaned them on his robe before putting them back on. "A dimensional rift was opened between your world and ours and the magic brought you here."

Harry's head was swimming. Dimensions? That stuff wasn't real, was it?

"Tell me, on your world, do you have a Voldemort also?"

In a daze, he shook his head. "No. I mean, we had one, but he's dead now?"

That bit of news was well received, judging by the muted cheers and excited whispering.

Dumbledore leaned forward and his eyes captured Harry's, leaving him unable to look away. "Can you tell us how?"

"Er, sure. But our worlds are different. Some of that stuff never happened back home, and we don't have a Girl-Who-Lived."

A glimpse of dismay crossed Dumbledore's face, to be replaced by steely determination. "Tell us what you can."

Harry took a deep breath. Merlin, this was surreal. Still, if he could help these people... prevent all those deaths...

"All right, it's quite a long story. How long do I have, anyway?"

Dumbledore dismissed his question with the wave of a hand. "These meetings usually last only half an hour more at most, but I'm quite sure everyone is anxious to hear anything you can tell us. Take all the time you need."

Harry chuckled. "Good to know, but that isn't what I meant. How long am I staying here? This ritual you did, how long does it last? When will it send me home?"

Nobody answered and more worryingly, people didn't meet his eyes.

"Ah, you seem to be under the mistaken impression that you'll be automatically returned after a certain timespan has elapsed," Dumbledore said cheerfully, not looking at all concerned. "You don't have to worry."

Harry felt something unclench in his chest. "Oh, so you'll have to do a separate ritual to get me home then? All right."

For a moment he thought on where he should begin his story. He didn't want it known that he was the _Boy_-Who-Lived and especially not the fame that came with it. Maybe he could tell it like he was a bystander? Like it had happened to someone else?

Absently his eyes flitted over the familiar faces in the room before they stilled on Mrs. Weasley who looked just like he remembered, except for the tears in her eyes.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said softly, "Molly." She almost jumped out of her seat. "Why are you crying?"

She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights but didn't answer and Harry felt his gut tighten. Something was wrong. Very few things could make the woman look like that. Was it something he said? Voldemort's demise should be cause for celebration, right? Unless...

He narrowed his eyes. "This ritual to get me home," he said softly and watched the woman flinch. "Is there something wrong with it?"

She shook her head, but didn't meet his eyes.

"Have you looked it over."

A single head shake.

His eyes narrowed further. "Has _anyone_ looked it over?"

No response.

He glared at Dumbledore. "Tell me about the ritual to get me home."

The old man sighed. "Dimensional travel is a rare phenomenon because it is unnatural and imprecise. It has only been successfully attempted a few times in recorded history. In every case an unfocused summoning occurred, blanketing all realities and converging on the ritual site. Unfortunately, the reverse, namely banishing, disperses from the point of the ritual site without focus as one would expect."

Harry tried to wrap his head around that, but couldn't make heads or tails of it. Moreover, he was sure Dumbledore did that on purpose. "Say that again," he growled. "In English this time."

It was Remus who answered. "The summoning brought someone from _some_ world here. Similarly, there exists a ritual to banish you to _some_ world. There is, however, no way to specify what world that should be."

"I'd have to rely on luck?" he asked angrily, jumping to his feet. "How many worlds are there?"

This time Remus too dropped his eyes. "Too many to count," he said softly. "Theoretically an infinite number."

Harry goggled at that. "To get home, I'd have to do that ritual again and again, without any real chance of it working?"

Dumbledore winced and Harry's head shot around to immediately focus on him.

"What else?" he growled.

The man took a deep breath and with forced calm met his eyes. "Judging by the state you arrived in, it is likely that you would not survive another trip, let alone more than one."

Harry staggered back until his knees hit the bench and he collapsed onto it.

"I can never go home?"

Nobody answered.

* * *

**A/N:** Welcome to 0800-Rent-A-Hero, which is finally developed enough to start posting the first bit of it. This'll be a novel-length story, though as it is currently unfinished I dare not guess how many words it'll end up as. For as long as I have a small buffer I shall endeavour to update once a week.

The storyline of summoning Harry to another universe to succeed where they are failing is not a new one. I myself first encountered it in Yet Another Universe by Silverfawkes, but there are many others. No doubt I'll make use of some cliché's and tropes, but I find enjoyment in ignoring and subverting whatever cliché I can get away with. Expect surprises. Except, well, by definition you can't, so... Yeah. I'll just go on and pretend you're all amazed at my creativity.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	2. This is Harry speaking

**Disclaimer: **The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Excerpt from Chapter 1**

"_Judging by the state you arrived in, it is likely that you would not survive another trip, let alone more than one."_

_Harry staggered back until his knees hit the bench and he collapsed onto it._

"_I can never go home?"_

* * *

**Chapter 2 – This is Harry speaking**

Harry was reeling. This was... this was...

Fuck.

These people... What were they thinking?

Disbelievingly he eyed the Order members milling around the Great Hall. None of them dared meet his eye. Sure, they looked guilty now, but they'd gone through with their dumb plan anyway.

Like in the Hospital wing, he felt the urge to run, to leave and escape.

He strode towards to door, determined to not be among arseholes.

"Where are you going?" Moody's gruff voice was unmistakable.

Harry didn't bother to stop or turn around. "Somewhere not here."

Before he reached them the great double doors slammed shut, the resulting wind enough to ruffle his hair. His grey hair. Grey because these arseholes decided to go fishing between worlds.

Harry stilled. "Open the door," he said softly, with an undertone of danger.

"We are very sorry for the circumstances that you now find yourself in," Dumbledore said placatingly, "However, you just hinted that you know how to defeat Voldemort. Please, share with us what you can."

Furious, Harry turned on his heel, fists clenched so tight his nails were breaking through the skin of his palms. It took a lot of effort to unclench his jaw. "You kidnapped me, tortured me, disfigured me, knowing I can never go home. I had a life, friends, a-" He choked as he thought of Teddy's happy face. A face he would never see again.

He closed his eyes as a single tear ran down his cheek and angrily shook his head. He didn't want to be sad, to cry, to show weakness. Anger was much better.

Harry clenched his fists tighter and focussed on the pain in his palms.

"You unmitigated arseholes." The quiet growl cut through the tense silence and the pure venom bordering on hatred made most of them flinch back.

Magic was swirling around him, almost begging to be used and part of him was eager to lash out and curse the lot of them. He barely restrained himself with the fact that he didn't even have his own wand, just a cheap replacement. Not to mention the fact that he was outnumbered twenty to one. It wouldn't get him anywhere.

He was furious with all of them, but right now his gaze was homing in on Tonks and Remus. The parents of his godson. He'd spent several days a week with the little tyke and every time he told stories about them. How they were brilliant and loyal and simply good people.

The fact that they participated in this... this farce made him feel sick. Disgusted, he turned away.

A Full Body-Bind hit him in the back the moment he did so and he was helpless when someone took the opportunity to force a Calming Draught down his throat. He could feel the anger and sadness and hurt being forced away to the back of his mind. For a moment it only made him angrier until that too succumbed to the might of magical potioneering.

The Body-Bind was released and he felt empty, cold, emotionless.

"Have a seat, please," Dumbledore requested, voice heavy with sorrow.

There was no benefit to be gained from standing in front of a locked door, relatively unarmed and surrounded by over twenty hostiles wearing faces of people he recognised, so Harry sat.

He pinned the Headmaster to his seat with a cold, emotionless gaze. "What do you want?"

"For you to answer a few questions."

Refusing would get him nowhere. They'd probably pump him full of Veritaserum. After kidnapping and torture, violating privacy didn't really compare.

He gave a single nod. "Anything to get me out of here. But first, where are my things?"

Another wince. "I'm afraid you not only arrived here looking rather worse for wear, you were also naked."

At that Harry fell silent. No wonder Tilly couldn't find anything.

Dumbledore took the opportunity to start his questioning. "What is your name? Your full name?"

A choice then. To link himself to Iris Potter, pawn of the Order, or to lie his arse off and try to remain as anonymous as he could. It wasn't a hard one.

He couldn't choose either of his parents' names. His godfather's was similarly out; he didn't want anyone to link him to his counterpart. Another colour than black was fine, though.

"Harry White. No middle name." A common surname. Not very inventive, but it would have to do.

"Did the Order of the Phoenix exist in your world?" Harry nodded. "Were you a member?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

Dumbledore sighed. From his robes he removed a metal contraption that looked far too delicate to be stored in a pocket and set it on the table in front of him. It resembled an egg on a tripod, made of spidery legs, dipped in silver. The headmaster shot a spell at it and then without warning shot another one at Harry.

Reflexively Harry leaned backwards to evade it, causing Moody to hit him with a Body-Bind again. Dumbledore recast his spell. Unable to move out of the way, this time it hit him centre mass. It was followed by the counter curse to the Body-Bind, returning Harry's control of his limbs.

It felt weird to be cursed and not be angry about it. His brain was fully engaged, however, and tallied another few marks against the Order and Dumbledore in particular.

"You say you weren't part of the Order, but you addressed Molly Weasley by name. Now I ask you again, were you a member of the Order of the Phoenix in your world?"

"No."

Dumbledore watched the shiny metal tripod expectantly and raised a single eyebrow when nothing happened. A lie-detector, then. Interesting.

"How do you know Molly Weasley?"

"Though I was never a member, I did fight side by side with Order members several times." The calm forced upon him by the potion allowed him to speak truth, imply many things and lie out of his arse. Would be great in Slytherin indeed.

"But I'm not a fighter," Molly blurted out.

Harry's cool eyes met hers. "In my world Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

She paled, evidently not happy with the news. That, or his cold, emotionless gaze made her very uncomfortable.

"I see there are more differences than I had originally hoped for," Dumbledore murmered, drawing attention to him again. He cleared his throat.

"How was your Voldemort defeated?" A lot of indrawn breaths were followed by everyone leaning forward.

"He was killed in a very brief duel because of luck and utterly unpredictable circumstances."

Harry had thought long and hard about everything that had happened and his opinion on Albus Dumbledore had gone back and forth repeatedly. The whole convoluted sequence of events that led to Voldemort's downfall could not possibly be planned out and when Dumbledore had tried it had gone wrong. Only an insane amount of luck had led to Voldemort's defeat and even more luck had been required for Harry to live through it.

Everyone held their breath as their heads turned to look at the lie-detector. It didn't even twitch.

Several Order members slumped in their seats and more than one hid their head in their hands. No one said a word as they struggled with the disappointment, yielding a very tense and heavy silence.

Drugged as he was, Harry didn't suffer from either anger or despair. He did, however, have some mild curiosity.

"I am the Queen of England," he said calmly, startling a few people nearby. Immediately the thing on the table grew a spout that let out a piercing whistle. It didn't stop.

Huh. So that's what would happen.

The people around him let out frightened exclamations at the sudden noise and reflexively clasped their hands over their ears. Dumbledore, the one closest to the device, jerked back as far as his chair would allow causing it to slide backwards several inches.

Harry ignored them all. Still, the noise was somewhat annoying.

"I am _not_ the Queen of England."

The spout got swallowed back into the tripod, and all was quiet once again. A lot of glares were thrown in Harry's direction. It took several seconds for Dumbledore to break the tense silence.

"Despite the fact that we cannot apparently recreate the circumstances, I would still like to know more," he said hesitantly. "How did Voldemort die?"

"Backfired Killing Curse because of the Elder Wand," Harry answered promptly.

There was some confused murmuring, but Harry kept his eyes on Dumbledore who paled and swallowed.

"Voldemort got his hands on the Elder Wand?" he whispered.

"That he did."

The headmaster was smart enough to understand what that meant and Harry could see many emotions running across his face. The one that lingered was fear.

The idea of Voldemort wielding the Deathstick was unpleasant enough, but for someone who had worshipped the Hallows in his youth and still did to some extent one hundred and fifty years later it was truly frightening. Dumbledore did something to clamp down on it, but Harry guessed it was more to get away from that train of thought than any kind of acceptance as he changed the subject.

"What of the Girl-Who-Lived? What role did she play?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice now, a craving for some good news.

Harry gladly took the opportunity to stomp on that. "We had no Girl-Who-Lived."

It took a heartbeat for it to sink in and then whispers grew into murmurs, which grew into loud voices until pandemonium reigned as people argued what they were going to do now. Apparently it wasn't just the public who had put all their hopes on a single girl. The Order was just as guilty.

Harry took the offered opportunity to think of what to say to keep his name out of things.

"We had no Girl-Who-Lived," he said loudly to draw attention once again, "but the story you told of Voldemort's demise in Godric's Hollow is somewhat familiar. He went there on Halloween, 1981, and was indeed defeated, although nobody knows how." Speculated? Sure. No facts, though. "The Potters are heroes on my world because of that, but if they ever had a daughter, she died with them."

The last was really a borderline half-truth. Theoretically his mum could have been pregnant at the time. Fortunately the emotions brought on by thinking of the murder of his infant sister were immediately suppressed, otherwise he'd probably be throwing up.

"What about the prophecy?" Dumbledore was almost begging, clearly grasping at straws.

"What about it? If there ever was a prophecy, it certainly wasn't published in the papers. How would I know about it?" The drugs allowed Harry to say all this without inflection as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Dumbledore looked back and forth between him and the lie-detector aghast. Clearly things were not going the way he had hoped at all and he seemed at a loss for what to do about it. It seemed a little strange to Harry, as the man had always seemed so calm and collected before. Then again, he'd been plotting at the time and things had gone reasonably according to plan. Maybe he just wasn't used to not getting his way?

The part of him keeping track of offenses committed by the Order gave a twinge of satisfaction. Were he not potioned he would be chortling in glee.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice drew him out of his reverie. "Why are you here?"

Harry didn't miss a beat. "Because you kidnapped, tortured and disfigured me and will not let me leave." Arseholes.

People winced, and a lot of them did so a second time when the lie-detector didn't make a sound.

The bald Auror clenched his jaw as well, but his resolve didn't waver. "That's not what I meant. Of all the people in all the worlds out there, why did the ritual bring you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. It certainly wasn't my choice. Shouldn't you know that, seeing how it was your ritual and all?"

People started talking amongst themselves again, which quickly led to arguing. Dumbledore, who normally chaired these meetings sat staring blankly ahead, lost in his own thoughts. By now close to half an hour had passed during his interrogation and Harry thought he could feel the effects of the Calming Draught slowly begin to wane.

"So, are we done? I hear no more questions, and I'd very much like to leave you sorry bunch behind."

"But where will you go?" someone asked.

"Away. Somewhere where I don't have to look my kidnappers in the face all the time."

"But you can't just leave. We need you!"

A brief flare of annoyance was immediately soothed away. Whoever asked that embodied everything Harry hated about the attitude of wizards and witches: the whining for someone else to solve their problems.

"No you don't," he said, his voice a little cool. "You gambled by kidnapping me and don't like the result. All you're doing now is looking for an excuse to validate your actions."

"Do you hate us?" Tonks sad, uncertain question silenced the room.

Harry paused before he spoke slowly, "I hate what you did and I am furious with you. Do I hate you?" Ice cold eyes swept over the people in the room as he thought. It was the faces they were wearing, he decided, that complicated everything. "I don't actually know. Let's find out."

He turned to the metal tripod still standing close to Dumbledore. "Yes, I hate you."

The thing gave a short warble and then turned quiet on its own. Harry raised a single eyebrow. "Huh. I guess I truly don't know. Let's call it borderline hatred."

"Will you join Voldemort?" Moody asked, ever vigilant.

Harry paused, rocketing the tension and adding extra drama, but he didn't really need to think about that one. "No," he said with a sigh. "However much I hate you, I hate Voldemort more."

The tension drained away and everyone was left milling, unsure of what to do now.

Harry stood up and calmly strode over towards the doors. The potion was on its last legs and he could feel the anger and hurt bucking and straining against its bonds, slowly seeping back into his system. He needed to get out of here or he would end up duelling everyone and losing badly.

"Wait! There must be some reason you were chosen."

Harry barely suppressed a flinch. Just like marked, chosen was another one of those unpleasant words that reminded him of the crap flung his way on fate's apparent design.

The questions came rapidly now, people trying to get them answered before he reached the door.

"Do you know any obscure spells?" Remus.

"No." Twenty-five feet.

"Are you spectacularly skilled at something?" Tonks.

Defence? There were people with way more training than he had. Parseltongue? Certainly unique, but he'd really only used that a couple of times and while he could speak it he couldn't actually make it do anything useful.

"No." Twenty feet. To his surprise, the tripod whistled. Harry could sense people perking up behind his back.

He came to a halt and tilted his head to the side, thinking for a moment.

"Ah," he exclaimed with a wry smile, before pointing skywards. "I am a very good flyer." The whistle quieted.

Harry started walking again.

"That's it?" Tonks asked, upset.

"Yup." He was only a dozen feet from the door now.

"What were your grades like?" McGonagall asked quickly.

"One Outstanding, and mostly Exceeds Expectations for the rest that mattered." Of course they thought he was talking about NEWTs, of which he didn't have any.

"What was your best subject?" McGonagall again.

Here Harry dithered. He really didn't want to answer Defence because then they'd assume he was some kind of master dueller and probably try to force him to fight. Sadly, that was, in fact his best class. Except, well... He did end up fulfilling a prophecy, thereby saving a great many lives, a country and possibly the world. And the answer would irk his former Head of House immensely.

"Divination."

He held his breath, but there was no whistle and then he reached the doors. He put his left hand on the doorknob and reached for his borrowed wand with his right. It was still locked, so he turned around and scowled.

"So," he said slowly. "End of the line." His voice was full of anger once again, as the last of the Calming Draught wore off.

"You've kidnapped, tortured, disfigured, imprisoned and drugged me before violating my privacy by tying me to a fucking lie-detector and forcing me to answer questions. And you call yourself the good guys."

He narrowed his eyes and glared fiercely. "Open this fucking door or I start cursing people."

"Where will you go?" Dumbledore had regained his voice and was now looking at him with an intensity that made Harry uncomfortable.

"As far away from here as possible."

The lie-detector whistled once more, until Harry destroyed it with a silent blasting curse. The thin pale beam of magic looked pathetic with the wand as mismatched as it was, but it was just strong enough to cause a few shrieks as people were pelted with little bits of metal.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Less specific then. Away."

"But you have no money, no home. No friends or family. No proof of education, no background and no past. Legally, you don't even exist." Dumbledore's voice was laced with pity, but Harry understood the underlying threat. There's nowhere for you to go. Behave, or end up in Azkaban.

"Let us help you. You say your best class was Divination? That teaching spot just opened up at Hogwarts. We already know your background, and you can earn some money to land on your feet."

Inwardly Harry was seething, because the fucking prick was right. He had nowhere to go, and probably wouldn't even get out of the room if he tried. Teaching here would give him access to the Hogwarts Library and possibly a way home, because he couldn't rule out that these idiots had buggered up the research too. Barring that, he'd at least have money, food and a roof over his head which was better than during the horcrux hunt.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"Fine," he snarled.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said happily while his eyes twinkled. "Why don't we adjourn for the day and meet again once tempers have cooled." A small twirl of his wand caused the doors to unlock and open with a deep groan.

Harry took the opportunity to flee.

* * *

Without all the people in his face his anger dwindled making place for an unpleasant mixture of exhaustion and despair. He was in another fucking world. Alone.

Harry desperately wanted to curl up under the sheets and fall asleep hoping that this would prove nothing but a bad dream, but he didn't even have a bed any longer. The one he'd been using was in the Hospital wing and he definitely didn't want to go there and face Madam Pomfrey right now.

In the end he settled for an empty classroom and sunk down into one of the chairs there, resting his head in his hands on the desk.

Merlin, what was he going to do?

With the adrenalin fading from his system a full-body ache made itself known, telling him he was definitely not completely healed yet. Absently he rubbed his temples too, trying to smooth away the burgeoning headache.

Tired, Harry took off the glasses he'd borrowed and looked at them with his blurry vision. They were better than nothing, but they definitely weren't right for him.

Maybe he should just focus on that. What did he know about rituals and dimensional travel? Nothing would matter if he couldn't see and that was a problem he actually knew how to tackle.

Except, well... He had no money. Fuck Dumbledore and his bloody cult.

He let his head slump on the desk again and tried to think of nothing as the events of the past hour sunk in.

He was stranded in another world. Probably. Maybe. They could be wrong; he'd have to check on that.

People who looked like friends and allies weren't. People who looked like enemies were. Which was just plain unfair.

A pop to his right had him falling out of his seat, twisting so he landed on his back and pointing his wand at Tilly who squeaked in surprise.

"Tilly is sorry for surprising master," the elf said tremulously. His shoulders slumped and his long ears hung down giving him the overall appearance of a wilted plant.

Harry wheezed and coughed. He was obviously high strung if his war-honed reflexes were coming into play again, but his battered body definitely didn't agree with his actions. Slowly, he clambered to his feet and set the chair upright before sitting back down with a tired groan.

"That's all right, Tilly. You're forgiven. What brings you here?"

The elf straightened a bit and proudly held up three fingers as he started ticking items off.

"Master Harry was lost, so Master Headmaster Dumblydore is asking house-elves to finding him and giving him messages. Tilly is offering help. Is Master Harry still lost now that Tilly is finding him?"

"No Tilly, I'm found now." Harry rapidly shook his head in annoyance. House-elf speech was frustratingly contagious. "What messages did he have for me?"

The elf ticked off a second finger. "Miss Nurse Poppy is saying to get lots and lots of rest. Master Harry is to be mending." The elf frowned here, obviously confused. "Tilly can do that for Master Harry if Master Harry is sleepy?"

Harry chuckled faintly. "She meant healing, Tilly. I was hurt but I'm getting better now."

That perked him up and he ticked off the third finger. "Oh! Miss Nurse Poppy is saying Master Harry can be doing the resting in the Hospital or he can be doing that in his own room."

That sounded like a marvellous idea. "I have a room?"

The house-elf bobbed his head enthusiastically up and down. "Oh yes! Master Harry is being teacher now, so Hogwarts is having room for him. Is Tilly be showing Master Harry where?"

Harry ignored the teacher part but sighed in relief at the thought of having a bed to lie in. "That would be brilliant, Tilly. Lead the way."

* * *

It should not have come as a surprise that Tilly led him to the Divination tower, but it was. Harry stared in dismay at the trap door in the ceiling with the plaque that still read 'Sybill Trelawney, Divination Teacher'.

"I thought this was the Divination classroom?" he said, half-hoping that there was another door hidden somewhere, anywhere else.

Tilly nodded. "When this is being Miss Lawny's room she is also teaching future telling there. Then Miss Lawny is being fired and horse-man is teaching fortune telling in his own classroom somewhere else."

Harry blinked. "Are you telling me Trelawney chose to teach in her living room?"

Tilly bobbed his head up and down.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Something to think about at another time, I'm sure. Can you tell me how to open the door?"

Tilly tilted his head sideways and looked at him questioningly. "Master Harry is being wizard. Master Harry is using wizard spell."

Oh. Well, that was actually quite obvious. Turning away from Tilly to hide his faint blush he took aim at the trap door in the ceiling. "_Alohomora_."

Sure enough, with the soft creaking of protesting hinges the door opened. The end of a ladder was visible and a quick Summoning Charm had him awkwardly climbing into his new home for the future.

There was no doubt these were Trelawney's quarters as they had not yet been cleaned. A haze of incense and possibly other recreational aerosols made it hard to see the opposite wall through the smoke. It smelled like the love child of a perfume and an herb shop after setting both on fire. Otherwise, it was exactly like he remembered the Divination classroom to be: cushions, low tables and a whole host of fortune-telling paraphernalia.

The single air-freshening charm he knew wasn't strong enough to handle the sheer density of whatever was cloying the air so Harry hurried over to the windows and opened them wide. At least then he could breathe in several parts of the room. He didn't have the energy to start shooting spells around anyway, so maybe airing the room for a day or two would help.

Tilly was standing behind the teacher's desk near a door that Harry had always assumed to lead to an office but apparently led to the rest of her quarters. The elf was looking around in disdain and inwardly Harry cheered as he was sure a small army of elves would descend upon the room while he slept to make it liveable.

Behind the door was a small bedroom with a twin bed, hidden from view by an elaborately hung curtain that descended from a single point on the ceiling in billowing waves like a circus tent. It looked like an incredibly thin material, though the deep purple bordering on black did not let through any light, reminding him uncomfortably of the Veil at the Department of Mysteries. It was adorned with feathers, crystals and fur and all in all it gave the impression of what he imagined a Lethifold would look like after several successful hunts.

He shuddered. "Yeah, I'm not sleeping with that around me."

He did not feel like unravelling what mysterious way the fraud of a teacher had used to affix the thing to the ceiling. Instead he levitated the whole thing into a bundle and used a Sticking Charm to fix it up there next to the rest of the fabric. He'd vanish or cut it down tomorrow when he wasn't as bone-weary as he was now.

A quick glimpse into the bathroom showed him a toilet, sink, mirror and a small bath large enough for him to sit in with his legs straight. Harry deemed it sufficient and after thanking and shooing off a happy Tilly he let himself fall down on the bed.

Laying on his back in the privacy of his own room Harry allowed his thoughts to race unrestrained.

He had been kidnapped by people who looked like his friends but clearly weren't. Called to do their dirty work. Like a pet- no, like a tool.

He'd like to think his friends would never do such a thing, let alone drug and interrogate him afterwards.

At least he had managed to bend the truth to so he wouldn't appear even more interesting to them. He had never imagined he could be so crafty.

Of course, without the calming influence of the Draught they'd fed him it would never in a million years have worked. Fortunately he'd gotten the chance to give them a false name before Dumbledore brought out the lie detector.

He frowned. Why had that worked? He understood that his counterpart was a girl, and as such he probably didn't look much like her, but people had always told him he looked just like his father. Was his facial reconstruction so drastic that he was unrecognisable to them?

And what about 'his mother's eyes'? Did they only remind people of his mum when they were set in his father's face? Didn't his counterpart have the same eyes to remind people of?

It was only now that he could look back on it with a little distance that he realised how frail his 'secret identity' really was. There were just too many unknowns for him to be sure of anything.

He let out a sigh. Hopefully it wouldn't matter and he'd find a way out of here. He was at Hogwarts, so at least the territory was familiar, quite possibly more so than for many of his... captors. Plus, the library had all sorts of information, so maybe there was a way out to find there. He was no Hermione, but he'd been known to learn a thing or two if the need was high enough.

Well, trans-dimensional kidnapping certainly qualified.

Turning to his side Harry made himself comfortable and grabbed a pillow to snuggle. Dislodged by the movement an empty sherry bottle rolled across the mattress and came to rest against his stomach. Half-asleep already Harry curled himself around it like a teddy bear.

He really needed the comfort.

* * *

**A/N:** And there we have chapter two of this sordid little tale.

Harry would totally make an excellent Slytherin if not for his temper. The solution? Drugs. Oh yeah.

Speaking of which, this is getting a little heavy on the swearing and last chapter had a unique description of interdimensional transportation. Should I be upping the rating to M? I don't think things will get worse than they are now.

To start a tradition of mentioning similar fics from which I may or may not have drawn inspiration, look at Still Another Universe by transportation. It's hard to keep track of which ideas are mine and where I got some others with the sheer volume of stories out there, but I figure those I do remember deserve the shout outs anyway.

_Nocte Furorem:_ Thanks for noticing! It seemed like a nifty twist while I was writing but I hadn't even realised it hadn't been done before. Now I can happily add another mark to my number-of-cliché's-subverted scorecard.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	3. Please hold

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 3 – Please hold**

After sleeping like the dead Harry awoke late, feeling anxious and dreading opening his eyes. The full body ache he was sporting was his first clue yesterday was not a bad dream. Lifting one eyelid a smidgeon showed him a clumsy ball of purple fabric stuck to the ancient stone ceiling.

Dammit.

Slowly, mindful of his injuries, he moved his arms and legs, taking stock of his body. Everything was sore, but there were no sudden twinges hinting at having torn open one of his wounds. Instead he was hopeful that Madam Pomfrey would remove the bandages today.

A sliver of exposed skin between all of the white cotton on his side brushed with something hard and cold. Harry jumped in surprise making all his bruises throb in protest.

An empty clear glass bottle lay innocently next to him as if he had drank himself unconscious the evening before.

Harry cautiously arched his neck and breathed in through his nose before wincing. Cooking sherry.

Well, it was official. Being kidnapped into another dimension was not just a bad dream.

In a flash Harry grabbed the bottle by the neck and in a sudden movement hurled it at the far wall with a roar. It crashed against the unyielding stone, exploding into splinters that clattered onto the thick rug like falling rain.

Breathing heavily he stared at the field of broken glass. He was not ready to deal with this, with any of it.

Instead, he focussed on more immediate needs. Washing, which was difficult without soaking all his bandages. Cleaning his clothes with a quick _Scourgify _because he didn't have a spare set. Finally, breakfast, which Tilly was all too happy to deliver to his rooms, after which the elf happily set to cleaning away the broken glass.

Bathing, clothing and feeding himself allowed him to focus on the little things, the manageable things and it made him feel better. So afterwards Harry set out to do something about being wrapped in cotton.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he called out in the empty wing. "I'm here for my demummification."

"Find someone with a Mastery in Necromancy," she replied in a bored tone from her office.

"Will I die if I unwrap these bandages?" he wondered out loud.

"Maybe," she said without a hint of humour as she came bustling in, "because I will tie you to a bed with the remains and might forget to feed you while I go on vacation." She smacked his hand away from a loose cotton thread. "Stop that. It's _my_ job. Now behave."

Resignedly Harry sat on the bed she pointed at and watched her close the curtains around it. He let her fuss as she slowly and carefully unwrapped the cotton bindings on his arms and inspected the skin beneath.

Every inch of skin she exposed revealed a new scar. Deep pink lines divided his body like a patchwork quilt. Occasionally entire areas were an angry red, like misplaced puzzle pieces that fitted but did not belong.

After his arms were bared she did his torso, followed by his head and legs. With each new scar Harry's shoulders slumped a little further. After a while he looked away and stared unseeing in the distance while Pomfrey worked on his body.

His stomach rebelled and it took a great deal of concentration to keep his breakfast in. He felt disgusted and violated. While the nurse had undoubtedly worked on his naked body before he had never been conscious as she did so. Despite her professional attitude it was incredibly demeaning.

What made his head swim was how the scarring made him feel like damaged goods.

He'd never been overly proud of his body. Lack of food in his childhood had left him short and perpetually skinny and he hadn't considered himself much to look at anyway. His constant adventures had added an assortment of scars and blemishes which hadn't helped. Still, those wounds he had earned honestly, back when there were only a few. Right now he was covered. Small cuts, long cuts, there didn't seem to be any place on his body left where he could place his hand and not touch at least one scar. It was revolting.

"Nothing I can do about it, I'm afraid," she said bluntly. "They'll fade a little more, but they will stay with you the rest of your life. Having said that, as long as you're careful you don't need to be wrapped up again."

It was a little better when she allowed him to don his clothes again and he could no longer see most of it. At least then he could pretend he was still whole.

After a familiar spiel on resting and taking it easy – which he tuned out – Harry left the hospital wing. Like the day before he had an incredible urge to run, to get away. Today no-one could stop him, but he quickly realised there was nowhere he wanted to go.

Except home. He wanted to go home.

Harry balled his fists and rubbed his eyes. His mind was like an angry cauldron, bubbling with a myriad of emotions and on the verge of boiling over, emitting noxious fumes that obscured most of his thoughts.

He took a deep breath, and then another. Going home, that was his goal. Nothing else mattered.

He didn't quite believe Dumbledore's assertion that there was no way back. At least not without proof. He should research it, find answers, go to the library. Unfortunately wearing these hideous borrowed glasses for even an hour resulted in a headache so reading was not an option until he acquired better ones. And if he was buying essentials, a matching wand was a definite must too. Living amongst his kidnappers he would need a weapon that worked.

Which brought up a dilemma: to buy things he needed money and currently he had not even a knut to his name. Of course Dumbledore had mentioned hiring him to teach yesterday and he could go to his office right now and demand an advance.

He grimaced. Him and the Headmaster, alone in an office. The man was quite an accomplished Legilimens and desperate for information; a dangerous combination.

He should have asked for money yesterday. If he were to do so now it would feel a lot like begging for help and he was adamant not to show any weakness. Next time they called for a meeting he'd rake everyone over the coals and demand plenty of compensation, but until then it would be best if he could make do.

Well, the Room of Requirement had provided him clothes and glasses and a wand, maybe it contained some money as well. It was the best idea he could come up with for now, so minutes later found him marching up and down a seventh floor corridor focussing on needing the Room of Hidden Things.

Ancient solid wooden furniture formed the foundation for stacks of junk ten feet high. A path meandered through the piles of mismatched items, disappearing around the corner. Without an end in sight it resembled an endless forest of desks, chairs, armour, books, clothing, frisbees, empty bottles, magazines and so much more.

A shiver crossed Harry's spine as he suppressed an instinctual need to check the room for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. He could vividly remember being chased by fiery animals between the stacks. It was not a fond memory.

A few deep breaths helped him steel himself and he got out his badly matched wand. "__Accio__ galleons." He waited, but nothing happened. Maybe he needed more power? "__Accio__ sickles." Still nothing. "__Accio__ knuts?"

When he wasn't pelted with money he clenched his teeth to hide his disappointment. Maybe wizarding money was protected against summoning? "__Accio__ money pouches."

To his delight several came flying out of nowhere and he handily caught them all. The happiness didn't last long when he noticed how light they were. His suspicion was confirmed when he turned the bags inside out one by one. They were empty.

In hindsight it wasn't quite so surprising. The elves probably collected all the money people lost and added it to the Hogwarts vaults. This room was for useless things. Money was never that.

Dammit.

He really didn't want to approach Dumbledore from anything but a position of strength and needing something from him desperately was anything but that.

Well... While he didn't possess anything of his own, he was currently standing in a room full of lost and discarded items. Surely some of these were worth a little money?

He took a deep breath and gathered his magic to overpower another Summoning Charm through his mismatched wand. "__Accio__ jewellery!"

This time there was a response as several shiny objects came flying in his direction, followed by crashes from deeper in the room when entire boxes dislodged themselves and took flight, destabilizing long held piles of junk in the process.

He was grinning widely as he watched the small pile of glittering metal and precious stones form until his instincts screamed at him and he dropped to the floor. His heart missed a beat as he saw what appeared to be a silver circlet soar by. It reminded him viscerally of another piece of jewellery in this very room that too was silver and meant to be worn on the head. Never before was Harry so glad that something was charmed against summoning.

Ravenclaw's diadem.

One of Voldemort's bloody Horcruxes was practically within reach.

His breath sped up and sweat broke out on his forehead as one of his more frequent nightmares appeared to come true.

Merlin, Voldemort was still alive. He needed to get down to the Chamber immediately for a fang-

With a jerk he wrenched his head to the side, looking away from the thing and dragging his body after it until he was completely turned and standing with his back to the pile, panting and shaking.

No! Voldemort was dead! He had fucking killed the bastard and nothing anybody could do would bring him back to life again.

Distantly he realised he was almost hyperventilating and he focused on his breathing to the exclusion of all else until he was merely breathing heavily and dropped his head in his hands.

Seeing and talking to people looking like people he liked back home was nothing like being forced to face the fact that there was someone walking around wearing the face of his most hated enemy. An enemy who still had Horcruxes.

Suddenly furious again he twirled on the spot and with an overly large wand movement not unlike swinging a golf club banished the innocent circlet deep into the room and out of sight.

Maybe if they were nice to him he'd tell them where to find the diadem before he left. For now he had a pile of jewellery which looked like it would earn him a few galleons.

Still, best to be cautious. After all, considering the fact that it was stashed here maybe some of it was enchanted – and not in a good way. If he hadn't known Ravenclaw's diadem was a Horcrux it would have looked just as harmless as the rest. The thought made him shudder.

Resolving to be careful Harry shrunk down the bigger items until everything fit in three of the money pouches and put those away in his robes. It was time to get to work.

* * *

While he was an adult now, he couldn't help peer cautiously around corners and stifle his footfalls lest he be stopped by one of the professors. It would be for different reasons than when he was a child, but they would probably stop him nonetheless.

He missed his trusty cloak and map. The Disillusionment Charm was a poor substitute, but it was what he had.

Fortunately it proved to be enough. Without coming across anyone, hostile or otherwise he made his way to the grounds and from there to the gates. He had a moment of worry that they might be closed, but apparently from the inside one could open them with a simple first-year charm. He'd worry about getting back in later.

Gripping his wand tightly he turned on his heel and disappeared with a crack. The tight squeezing sensation was familiar and even welcomed. The flashback to that torturous moment of dimensional travel was not. When he reappeared in Diagon Alley near the Leaky Cauldron he was shivering and had to take several deep breaths to calm himself.

Merlin, he was a mess. But now was not the time to fall apart so he forced himself upright and focussed on putting one foot in front of the other.

The alley had that recognisable taint of fear that he had so enjoyed watching disappear after the war had ended. People scurried rather than walked. Their faces were drawn and many people appeared to have their hands on their wands.

Then again, so did he.

Harry felt somewhat naked without his familiar holly and phoenix feather wand, especially since the stick he had now was woefully inadequate should he be attacked. Which with his luck was not just possible, but likely.

As such, he steeled himself and joined the throng of hurrying people. Without looking too closely at anyone or anything else he made his way to Gringotts.

During his stealthy trek through Hogwarts he'd had time to think on where to present his valuable goods and come to the conclusion that he had very few options. Some pieces might be recognisable as long lost, some might be enchanted and some might even be cursed. To dispose of them without questions being asked Knockturn Alley was the safest bet, but he would not fund any of the shops there if he could help it. That left him with nowhere to turn but the race that cared more about gold and silver than their origins.

Gringotts' goblins were in fine form this morning: crabbily directing equally grouchy wizards and witches to and fro. Harry thought his request might be unusual, so instead of joining one of the lines for people wanting to visit their vaults he sought out a goblin who looked to be weighing emeralds the size of marbles.

"Excuse me," he ventured, but the being didn't even look up. Harry fidgeted somewhat awkwardly while he waited to be acknowledged. Ever since the break-in he had become very aware of how dangerous dealing with the goblins could be and being surrounded like this made him nervous.

Finally, after several minutes, the goblin let out a long and dramatic sigh before meeting his eyes with a hostile look. "What do you want?"

Harry chose his words with care. "I have come across a collection of jewellery that I may be interested in selling."

The goblin stared at him before making an impatient gesture. "Well, let's see it then."

Nervously, Harry put one of the money pouches on the counter but stopped the goblin before he could reach in, getting a growl for his troubles. "I do not know if any of these might be enchanted or cursed. I would recommend caution. I dared not touch them myself."

Without any notion if he was grateful or offended by the warning the goblin upended the pouch on his little desk, depositing a small mound of shrunken jewellery. He narrowed his eyes and gave Harry a flat stare. "Some of these are shrunk."

Harry nodded hastily. "Yes. It was convenient."

A sharp fingernail tapped the desk. "Unshrink them."

Harry took out his wand and made to do just that before something occurred to him. "Aren't there repercussions for casting spells on goblin soil?

Something flashed in the goblin's eyes, but it was gone too quickly for Harry to make any sense of it. "I hereby give you permission."

Harry shrugged. Well, that ought to be enough. A few flicks later the pile had grown substantially and the goblin began inspecting the pieces, not making a sound until he got to a particularly finely wrought amulet. His eyes narrowed.

"This is goblin made. Stolen by wizards." His voice carried an undertone of danger. "It belongs to goblins."

Had he not been in public and in arguably hostile territory Harry would have face-palmed. Not ten minutes after meeting the goblins of this world he was already risking goblin-wizard relations. Only his bipolar luck could land him in such straits so quickly. Then again, of all the things a goblin could get upset about this was the one topic he actually had some intimate knowledge of.

"Ownership of goblin-made artefacts is a long disputed argument between goblins and wizards," he said carefully. "One I frankly don't have an opinion on."

He eyed the goblin warily, wondering how to go about this. Gifting the amulet to the goblins might put him in their good graces but it could also mark him as a pushover they could take advantage of.

"You are offended by my trying to sell it to you," he said, trying to feel out the situation. "I did not know of its origins."

The goblin said something derisive in his own language but otherwise remained silent. It was clearly Harry's move.

He swallowed and nervously eyed all the sharp implements in the goblin's reach. If only he wasn't so out of his depth. Give him a good fight and he would hold his own but a situation such as this, where a wrong word might collapse all he was trying to achieve was something he had never excelled at. Well, except when he was under the Calming Draught yesterday.

"If selling it offends you then it would clearly be in my best interest not to do so." The goblin bared his teeth in a vicious victorious grin before it disappeared with Harry's next words. "Perhaps it would be in my best interest to return it to where I found it and never look for it again."

"It belongs to goblins," the teller repeated fiercely.

"A long held point of contention between goblins and wizards. By returning this piece to its former home I'm honouring both sides of the argument and maintaining the status quo, so to speak."

The goblin scowled like it had swallowed something particularly nasty. "Gringotts can offer you a finder's fee," he spat out.

"Excellent," Harry said cheerfully, deciding to go for broke. "What kind of finder's fee?"

And then they haggled.

The goblin was well versed in the art but Harry thought he wasn't taken advantage of too badly. He was particularly proud of his decision to abandon the teller completely when he tried to scuttle the price after learning Harry wasn't a regular customer and didn't have a vault. Instead, he headed for a different teller and asked what it would cost to open such a vault. It proved to be cheaper to do that first, and include that price in the haggling.

By the time he exited the bank more than an hour had passed and Harry now rented a small vault which contained a measly pile of galleons while he carried the remainder in his purse. It wasn't a windfall by any means but he had enough for a few necessary items.

His first stop would be Ollivanders, mostly because he knew where to find the shop. He was sure there would be a wizarding optometrist around but he would have to ask for directions.

The wand-maker was creepy as ever as he handed over wand after wand. Still, after rescuing his emaciated near-corpse from the Malfoy dungeons creepy was actually an improvement on his looks.

Come to think of it, when had Ollivander been kidnapped? Hadn't that been this summer?

The reminder of a war that he had won but that was still very much being waged here made him flinch the next time the man pushed a wand at him. Like all the others before it didn't respond to him either.

"Not to worry, we'll find you a match," Ollivander said solemnly.

Harry hummed non-committally and proceeded to test what felt like a hundred more, watching the old man grow more and more excited. Things were happening exactly like the first time he had been in this shop.

Until at some point Ollivander started to fidget.

"Acacia and dragon heartstring." No response and the man frowned.

"Walnut and phoenix feather." When that one didn't work either Ollivander threw the wand back in its box instead of placing it reverently back on the cushion. He fetched the last of the boxes he had removed from the shelf and offered it to Harry without comment but with narrowed eyes.

Again there was no response and Ollivander glared at him.

"Well, it seems that good old-fashioned Ollivander-crafted wands are not enough for you," the man practically spat.

Cold fingers crawled up his spine. Was... was there no wand here that matched him? Were the rules different for dimensional travellers?

"Um, I'm sorry?" Harry tried, confused at the sudden hostility.

He muttered something under his breath as he went to another shelf, returning with a small stack of boxes that looked much less well-cared for than all the others.

"I'm sure you are. For centuries, since 382 B.C. in fact, Ollivanders have used unicorn tailhair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feathers to craft the finest wands these isles have ever seen. Unfortunately on rare occasions people like you show up with your snobbish exclusivity, all picky and demanding."

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, not quite sure what to make of that. "You... Do you have more wands for me to try?"

Ollivander sneered and gestured carelessly at the new stack of boxes. "These were made by _others_ using _different_ cores." His disdain for them was palpable.

The man didn't make another move so after a few seconds Harry eyed him hesitantly and reached out himself to pluck the wand from the top box.

Immediately a familiar rush he hadn't felt in far too long crawled from the tips of his toes all the way up to his hair as the wand in his hand shot gold sparks into the air. It didn't feel quite as good as holly and phoenix feather, but then probably nothing ever would again.

Scowling, the wandmaker huffed. "Holly and griffin feather. It'll do."

He grabbed the remaining stack of boxes and carelessly dumped them behind the counter. "Forty galleons."

What? "That is... much more expensive than I was expecting," Harry said carefully, reaching for his money pouch nonetheless. The man's mood swings unnerved him.

Ollivander crossed his arms and huffed a second time."Wasting half my afternoon only to settle for _that_. You're paying for my time."

For a moment Harry debated putting his haggling practice of that morning to good use but he was too afraid the wandmaker would suddenly refuse to sell. Slowly he counted out what amounted to a good half of his funds in this world and pushed them across the counter.

"Um, do you know where I could find an optometrist?" he asked hesitantly but jerked back when the man shot him a glare so venomous he was scared of getting poisoned at a distance.

"What do I care? Get out."

Harry fled.

* * *

Fortunately someone else was kind enough to give Harry directions.

As soon as he set foot in the deep room with racks of glasses on both sides the proprietor lunged at him, reaching for his face with both hands. Harry cringed away, but not in time to prevent his glasses being stolen.

"No, no, no," the man cried as if in real pain, "I have seen badly fitted glasses before, but these are simply hideous."

Harry stared at what was now a man-shaped blob. "More importantly, they're also the wrong perscription," he said irritatedly.

"Well, if you can't see how disastrous you look then I suppose that makes up for something," the man muttered disdainfully while fetching something from behind the counter. Harry decided protesting probably wasn't worth the hassle and let him rub some kind of device over various parts of his face and tried not to freak out at the whirring and popping sounds or at the faint smell of burning hair.

It was only after a pair of glasses was placed on his nose again that he could verify the wisdom of his choice. The thing looked decidedly frightening, like a copper polaroid camera with teeth and long spindly claws at the side. It would not be a complete surprise should it develop a hunger for human flesh and try to eat his face.

As if he was channelling Ollivander, the man then started handing him pair after pair of glasses. All of which were taken away again before he could even fit them on his nose.

"Shouldn't I, you know, try them on, or something?" he asked hesitantly.

He was shushed with a dismissive hand wave. "Do not interrupt a master at work."

Suppressing a snort, Harry did just that, until ten minutes later he was actually allowed to try wearing a pair. Small hands on his back guided him to a large standing mirror trimmed in gold.

Upon seeing his reflection his hands jerked violently up to his face. The face looking back at him wasn't his own. In the back of his mind he realised that he hadn't looked in the mirror since removing the bandages and that doing so for the first time in a public setting was mightily unwise, but the damage was done.

Harry stared.

His black hair, perpetually messy and very reminiscent of his father was now an uneven gray with streaks of both dark and light unevenly applied. It appeared to have been tamed slightly by whatever had precipitated this change in colour as it looked thinner and was apparently behaving. He hadn't combed it so it wasn't behaving very well, but it now looked like a comb could make an actual difference.

Several angry red scars featured very prominently over his face. One ran from his hairline down to his chin across the eyelid. He was lucky the eye itself was still intact. Both cheeks, his right more so than his left, were similarly defaced. Interestingly, it appeared a small strip of skin had been unevenly regrown on his forehead. The top third of his familiar lightning-bolt scar was still there, but the rest was missing.

As if that wasn't jarring enough, it looked like his facial features had been altered as well. Not greatly, but he remembered less prominent cheekbones and his jaw appeared to be slightly more pointed.

Merlin, Madam Pomfrey had said that many of his bones had been regrown, but apparently without a 'before' image to work with she had just winged it and gotten it slightly off, like using a badly cast mould.

"Speechless, eh. I know, my work is truly amazing," the shopkeeper said, looking satisfied from over his shoulder.

"Yeah," he mumbled weakly, barely listening. He did, however, switch his attention to the glasses, if only to avoid thinking of how truly the Order's fucking ritual had messed him up.

Rectangular lenses with rounded corners were surrounded by a thin metallic grey rim. It was all very different from what he was used to, and somehow the different colour and style muted the bright colour of his eyes as well.

He swallowed heavily. Last night he had wondered how people had not recognised him. Right now he wasn't sure if he would even recognise himself.

In a daze, he paid and left, not really aware of anything until he reached the Apparition point and he had to force himself to focus lest he splinch himself on top of everything else.

Hogwarts' gates were closed and wouldn't open for him. Not in a mood to speak to anyone Harry simply Apparated to the Shrieking Shack and followed the tunnel onto the grounds. He needed solitude and a safe place to come to terms with this and right now that meant his rooms in the Divination Tower.

Two hours were spent laying despondently on his bed or staring at the mirror. It had to be repaired three times after he had blasted it apart in his anger at what had been done to him. He felt violated, like they had stolen his identity on top of taking him from his world. Adapting a false name had been his choice. Adapting a false face had not.

In the end, that's how he – at least temporarily – resolved the situation. It would help him retain his anonymity if he didn't look like James Potter quite as much. His scars would draw attention, but then again, he had always had a scar on his face. At least that one wasn't quite as prominent this time.

He made an effort to channel all his anger and fear into his determination, because now more than ever he wanted to go home. Which meant it was time to research. But in due time he would make sure the Order paid for this. He would make sure.

* * *

The Library was unmanned which left Harry free to peruse any section of it that he wished. Unfortunately there was no section on dimensional magic and he had no idea on where to look.

"Figures," he muttered, "the one time you need her Pince is nowhere to be found."

A brainwave had him vacate Hermione's sanctuary and head to the seventh floor instead. The Room of Requirement could hold all the books the library hosted, except one could ask for a selection of its contents.

His gut clenched tight when he opened the door and was faced with a bare room the size of a broom closet. A small wooden desk was set against the opposite wall, occupying half the available space. The only other piece of furniture present was the simple wooden chair in front of it.

Stacked neatly on the surface of the desk were three books.

Harry swallowed. "At least I won't have to read that much."

It proved to be even less than he expected. Two of the books were on completely different topics and only mentioned dimensional magic in passing. Unnatural, Dark and ill advised were some of the terms used.

The third had a single chapter dedicated to the subject. It was a history tome of peculiar people and it listed all seven known dimensional travellers to this world that were known to have existed.

Three had been dead on arrival. One had died of his wounds after a month-long coma. The last three had survived and lived out their lives on Earth.

Summed up briefly, there was no way home.

It hit him like a bludger in the gut. His shoulders slumped and he let himself fall forward until his head hit the desk.

He was stuck here and he could never go home.

Teddy. Ron, Hermione, Andi, Emma, Dan, everyone. They were all forever lost to him.

The selfish actions of a group of self-deluded individuals had taken them from him.

Fury overtook him, and in that moment, Harry could have happily gone on a killing spree.

The Room of Requirement understood his need better than he did and with a groan expanded around him. Marble pedestals grew from the ground up and glass busts of various Order members appeared out of thin air on top of them. A beaters bat materialised on top of the desk and Harry grabbed it like a lifeline.

Howling his grief he vented his anger on the glass sculptures, smashing them to splinters before moving on to the next. The jarring impact of the hard wood against glass jaws felt immensely satisfying. The sound of crunching as he pounded the remains into the pedestal was similarly so.

Behind him, the broken glass silently vanished and new sculptures appeared so that he never ran out of targets. By the time he ran out of energy and slumped against the wall an assortment of small cuts covered his exposed skin and his shirt was spattered with little droplets of blood.

Harry groaned and let himself slide down until he was sitting on the floor. Slipping his new wand from his holster, he cast his very first successful spell with it. "_Episky_." He cast his second to fiftieth as well when he repeated it again and again for every cut.

When he was finally healed as best as he was able he observed the destruction he had wrought dispassionately. It was fortunate he had been here when the dam burst on his emotions: had he encountered actual Order members in that state he wasn't sure what would have happened. However, now that his temper had cooled somewhat – more through exhaustion than actual conflict resolution – he needed a plan.

What was he going to do?

His mind absolutely refused to consider 'fighting Voldemort' a valid answer to that question so instead he tried to focus on what else he knew about this world besides the fact that dark bastard was still alive. Quickly he realised that was very fucking little.

His first order of business would have to be to learn the differences from his own world. So far everything had seemed remarkably similar, except for apparently being female – wasn't that mind-boggling – and Trelawney getting captured. However, there might be a thousand little details that could prove important later on which he simply did not know.

So, what? "I need to learn about the history of this world?" he half stated, half asked.

A comfortable looking reading nook appeared in the corner with a plush armchair that looked divine from where he was sitting on the cold stone floor. It was separated from a merrily cracking fireplace by a low coffee table. The little corner slowly tinted a familiar red and gold and for the first time since being yanked from his home Harry felt even a little bit comforted. The familiarity was very welcome.

He dragged his tired and sore body over and sagged heavily in the chair. It felt like it moulded itself to his shape and he almost moaned at the sensation. Once seated he could see the bookcase that had appeared against the other wall when he wasn't looking.

It had the unmistakable boring look of a home of history books. Even from this distance they put a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe his request hadn't been that good. He wasn't really interested in the distant history of this world anyway. Different though it may be, it wasn't immediately relevant.

There was, however, another source of more recent information. "_Accio_ stack of Daily Prophets."

Leaning backwards even further into his comfortable chair, Harry began to skim the papers.

Because he had to limit himself to something he decided to focus on the life of his counterpart. Any differences that he picked up on would probably be important.

He didn't find much.

At fifteen months old Iris Potter was hailed as the Girl-Who-Lived when something miraculous happened at a cottage in Godric's Hollow that left James and Lily Potter dead, Voldemort naked, missing and presumed destroyed and her the sole survivor, unharmed barring a scar.

There was plenty of speculation but the girl herself dropped off the face of the earth so it was likely she was dropped off at the Dursleys, just as he had been. The Longbottoms were tortured, Malfoy and his ilk bribed their way out of prison and everything seemed to follow the same pattern that his life had.

Until about two weeks ago when Trelawney was kidnapped.

When Dumbledore had said that Voldemort had leaked the prophecy to the press he had understated the megalomaniac's flair for the dramatic.

At noon, two days after Voldemort's unmasking in the Ministry atrium, a naked and partially flayed Sybill Trelawney had appeared in the middle of the holiday shopping crowd in Diagon Alley. Without regard for the bloody footprints she left behind she had made her way to the Daily Prophet offices. Horrified reporters had watched her drinking a vial of what was later confirmed to be Veritaserum and monotonously start talking about the prophecy. Politely she had even allowed several questions. When the serum wore off she had calmly taken a letter opener from a nearby desk and stabbed herself in one eye before driving it completely into her brain through the other. She was dead before she hit the floor.

It had apparently had a rather large impact on everyone present.

Since then every witch and wizard on the British Isles had been screaming at everyone else: how they were Doomed, how they were Saved, how Iris Potter should get up off her arse and do something already.

In an effort of supreme politicking Fudge still held the Minister's Office because, "his Ministry could obviously not be held accountable for events that were preordained." Harry desperately hoped that people were too busy panicking to just throw the man out and that they would come to their senses soon, in favour of the much less attractive idea that they agreed with him.

Sirius Black was confirmed deceased and several Death Eaters had been apprehended but their situation was clouded in mystery. Nobody knew what had happened with them and with the general turmoil nobody appeared to be asking questions.

Harry's stomach gave a loud growl, informing him that he had skipped lunch altogether and that it was now definitely time for dinner. He chose to take it up in his room so that he could stretch his legs on the way over. Tilly was happy to oblige.

To his surprise, Tilly returned while he was eating dessert, carrying a stack of parchment.

"Master Headmaster Dumblydore asks Tilly to give these to Master Harry."

Slowly he put down his fork and pushed his half-empty plate to the side. "Thank you Tilly. Let's see what he wants this time."

Warily he spread the documents out before him. It was a contract. Specifically, a contract for the post of Divination teacher at Hogwarts. A small note was affixed.

_Dear Mr. White,_

_Enclosed is the standard employment contract for new teachers at Hogwarts. Considering your verbal acceptance of a teaching position regarding the subject of Divination, as well as your subsequent use of the associated quarters and amenities it seemed prudent to get the formalities out of the way._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Percifal Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Order of Merlin, First Class  
__Grand Sorcerer  
__Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot  
__Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

It occurred to Harry that so many things had happened over the last few days that he was forgetting important details. Such as being blackmailed into teaching bloody Divination.

He also realised that he was swearing more than ever too but that was somewhat less relevant and perhaps even understandable.

The note was brief and contained very little actual information, but there was an enormous amount of subtext. You've already agreed both in word by accepting and in deed by using the rooms, so give it up and sign. Also, I am an extremely important man with many titles and connections and will make your life hell if you don't do as I say.

Bloody Albus bloody Dumbledore.

He didn't want to be in this castle or be among these people; he didn't want to teach and he especially didn't want to teach _Divination_ of all things. But what else could he do?

However politely it was phrased, he was not a citizen of this country - muggle or otherwise - so he probably had no legal rights. The little amount of money he did have was not enough to live on or escape with, especially considering Dumbledore's long reach and access to obscure tracking magics. He just didn't have the resources to go anywhere without help. Help he didn't have.

And Dumbledore had made his point well. He carried a big stick and was prepared to beat him into submission with it.

On the other hand, teaching Divination wouldn't be hard, exactly. And since it was an elective starting in third year with nobody continuing past the OWLs he wouldn't even have that many classes. That would leave him with a lot of free time and access to both the library and the Room of Requirement, both tremendous resources.

Hesitantly he reached for the contract and looked it over. It looked like a standard employment contract.

He scoffed. Not that he had encountered any of those before. This would, after all, be his first job.

Neither did he know anything about the salary offered, but it certainly sounded like enough to make ends meet.

The biggest problem he saw with it was that it mentioned September 1st as its effective date. Logical for regular new teachers, but what would he do for money until then? It wasn't even July yet. Was Dumbledore hoping to confine him to the castle? Since he was obviously only offered the position to keep him close the idea didn't seem too far-fetched.

With a sigh Harry realised he would end up signing it because he really had very little choice. If he couldn't find help he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He did not, however, have to give in and sign right now. Let Dumbledore sweat a little, and maybe they would get to haggling later. That is, if he could curb his instincts to murder the bastard as soon as he saw him. He'd worked out a lot of his anger in the Room of Requirement but not all of it was gone. Not by a long shot.

Still, imagining the various curses he would like to use was an enjoyable way to spend an evening.

* * *

**A/N:** I dislike the ever-present shopping trip at the beginning of many fics where Harry has to somehow dig himself out of some deep dank hole, but it really is quite impossible to avoid. Fortunately there are all sorts of opportunities for fun to be had in Diagon Alley.

Also, while writing about Voldemort's flair for the dramatics my mind couldn't help but wander down dangerous paths. Hogwarts doesn't have a theater club that I know of, the closest thing to performing arts they have is the toad choir... I dare you to have fun with that scenario; I know I am.

It surprised me how many people left a message saying they didn't want Harry to become Dumbledore's pushover. I hope it's clear Harry isn't all that fond of the old man but just can't see a way out of working with him. I ask you, which is more fun? Outright refusal, or bucking and straining against a bond forced upon him?

I was planning on recommending Stranger In a Too Familiar Land by Fyreheart but sadly it has recently been taken down pending rewriting/completion. Instead I'll mention To Call A Place Home by missmusicluver. Good fun.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	4. Press 1 to rent an avenging hero

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 4 – Press 1. to rent an avenging hero**

"No!"

Harry awoke with a cry and sat up straight in bed, his skin pale and clammy, making the crisscross patches of scar tissue on his chest stand out in clear red lines. With a shaking hand he reached for the glasses on his bedside table.

A cocoon of sheets tangled his feet, restricting his range of motion and he let out a frustrated growl when the bedside table was further away than expected and his reach fell short by a foot. Cursing, he kicked his feet to force himself free from the blankets. Dreaming about Voldemort coming back to life and killing all of his friends had always made him grumpy and today was no exception.

The nightmare had been a frequent one since the war ended. Not having a psychopathic megalomaniac hell-bent on ending his life had been a momentous change and surprisingly hard to accept and get used to.

He'd driven the grieving Weasley family spare with his lack of sleep and resulting temper, especially when things with Ginny hadn't exactly worked themselves out. Only after Hermione had bodily dragged him out of the Burrow and informed him he would be staying with her parents had things gotten better. Partly because Dan and Emma Granger were bloody saints and not affected by his outbursts, but more so because they were good listeners and had been able to help him accept that Voldemort was dead _and he was never coming back_.

Cue trans-dimensional vortex in their living room.

Swiping a few beads of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand Harry wandered to the living room and sank down in a chair in front of the fireplace. Playing with his new wand he lightly and wordlessly summoned and banished the still-glowing embers, jerking them around and breathing life into the fire. It didn't take long for flames to crackle merrily in the gloom of early morning.

Mission accomplished, Harry hunched over and brooded.

The dream was familiar, with torture and death at the hand of Snakeface's wand, except that tonight his friends and family had stood by and watched. More, they had egged the bastard on, smiling maliciously all the while.

He did not have to live in the Divination tower to interpret that little detail.

Warily Harry looked around in the dark corners and the moving shadows to make sure Voldemort wouldn't come strolling in right this minute, dressed evil-chic and acting casual before suddenly bombarding him with curses. Really, it was about what he expected of his life thus far.

His gaze travelled over the bundle of creepy lethifold-like bedhangings he had ripped from the ceiling days ago and in a sudden bout of anger he snarled and swept his wand to banish the whole thing into the fire. Breathing heavily he watched the flames lick and catch, eventually engulfing them.

The victory against the crime against bedroom decorations everywhere made him feel a little better and he watched the foul thing burn with a small smirk on his face.

A hoot interrupted his gloating and Harry swept his head around, his body suddenly tense and alert for any kind of danger.

Sitting on the windowsill was a large tawny owl, its brown feathers speckled with white. Tied to one leg was a thick envelope bearing the crest of the Ministry of Magic.

Finally!

Harry jumped from his seat and raced towards the owl. With a bloodthirsty grin he untied the envelope and ripped apart the seal in his eagerness to get at the contents.

This is what he had been waiting for, why he had all but sequestered himself away in his tower the past two days. He'd see the blasted Order in Azkaban, exactly as they deserved.

As his eyes flew over the page his smile faltered.

_Dear Mr. White,_

_In response to your missive of June 27th of this year Aurors Jones and Shacklebolt investigated your suspicion of the execution of a Dark Ritual at Hogwarts School for Whichcraft and Wizardry. The Auror Office is delighted to be able to lay to rest your concerns: no evidence was found of any Dark Arts activity._

_Sincerely,_

_Gwyneth Throckmorton_

_Night Shift Secretary  
Auror Office  
Ministry of Magic_

Harry's left eyelid twitched. He opened his mouth but the words seemed locked in his throat, the tense muscles in his neck keeping them from exploding out. Instead, the parchment spontaneously combusted in his hands and crumbled to ash on the carpet, leaving a dark stain.

Sharp twinges of his singed fingers finally broke through his composure and Harry spewed a litany of curses as he shook his hands to relieve some of the stinging.

Aurors Jones and Shacklebolt.

Sodding Order members had intercepted his owl. Not in time to prevent an Auror investigation but early enough to get themselves assigned to it and sweep it under the rug.

Harry paced from the open window, past the trap door in the floor to the shelves filled with crystal balls, many of which he had exploded and repaired the past few days and he resisted the urge to vent by doing so again.

There was more than one way to skin a kneazle. In this case he would just need a bigger knife; go over the traitorous Aurors' heads.

Who was the Head Auror, anyway? Surely interfering in an Auror investigation was a crime in itself, they were just digging their own graves here.

A quick perusal of an old newspaper made him wrinkle his nose. Scrimgeour was not exactly what he had in mind when thinking about the Aurors' boss reigning hell and damnation down on Dumbledore and his Order. Despite his lion-like appearance the man had proven to be a petty politician with no desire whatsoever to do the right thing unless it got him what he wanted.

No, he needed someone else. Someone honest. Someone who-

His eyes fell on another name, buried in the Daily Prophet's back pages and he stilled.

Madam Amelia Bones was still alive and Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.

He rubbed his hands together in glee. Excellent. Her reputation was solid, even if he had only learned that after she died back home when people lamented that she hadn't survived the first purge. If he could get her on his side she would send them all straight to Azkaban.

Speaking of... when had she been killed, anyway? If memory served, her death had been front-page news while he was still at Privet Drive that summer. Well, this summer now, blast all apparent time-travel to eternal dimension-hopping hell.

Still, if he could warn her in time that might buy him some goodwill with the woman. After all, one didn't just waltz into the DMLE and demand to speak to its head. Especially during wartime.

"Tilly!" he called loudly. Belatedly he realised that most people were still asleep while the sun had barely risen, but the elf popped in looking like it didn't bother him one whit.

"Master Harry is up early," he said with approval.

"Nightmare," Harry grunted. "Can I get an early breakfast?"

Tilly nodded and popped back out, returning minutes later with a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and a single sausage.

While Harry ate the elf sniffed before scowling at the fireplace and snapping his fingers. An unpleasant odour Harry hadn't even noticed until now was replaced by a faint citrusy smell.

Huh. Note to self. Next time, burn lethifold bedhangings in Dumbledore's office.

He didn't comment out loud, however, but instead relished how his last few bites tasted better without a whiff of stench. When it was done he sat back with a satisfied sigh.

Now, how to best warn the woman...

Harry tapped his index finger against his bottom lip, deep in thought.

"Tilly, can you check if there is a pensieve in the Room of Hidden Things?" he asked suddenly.

Without a word Tilly disappeared. Harry made and discarded a few plans before the elf showed back up, sadly without a big stone bowl.

"Tilly is sorry," he said, head bowed and eyes downcast. "There is being no pensieve."

"That's all right. Can it make one for me though? If I really need it?"

Tilly perked up. "Oh yes, Master Harry. The Come and Go Room can make copies of anything in the castle. Master Headmaster Dumblydore is having pensieve so Come and Go Room can be making copies of it." He wilted. "But the copy can not be leaving the room."

"That's quite all right. It just means I have to get dressed first," Harry said quickly. He crouched down on one knee and put his hand on the green bony shoulder. "Thank you, Tilly. You've been a great help."

Bulbous eyes went wide and Tilly let out a sqeak before vanishing with a pop.

Harry rolled his eyes. Someday he would meet a well-adjusted house-elf.

* * *

Half an hour later saw Harry in the Room of Requirement. It was bare, barring a single sparsely populated bookcase to the side but Harry didn't spare it a single glance as he rushed to to the marble pedestal in the centre. On top of it sat a stone basin adorned with symbols and runes turning the simple bowl in a work of art. The shimmering liquid inside was lit up faintly by luminous whirling blue-grey clouds just below the surface.

He skidded to a halt just before touching the thing, reaching out his hand towards it before restraining himself.

Blood rushed to his face and he could feel the heat on his cheeks as he withdrew his arm and ran his hand through his hair. Reflexively he looked both ways to see if someone had caught that. How did one go about extracting a memory, anyway?

The presence of a bookcase was a big hint and Harry resignedly plodded towards it. He wanted action, like throwing the lot of them in prison, not reading stuffy books.

He almost set fire to the whole thing when he saw one of the books was on Occlumency but just barely managed to tone down his response to throwing the book across the room instead.

Fortunately there was a booklet on pensieves and their usage. Unfortunately using one turned out to not be quite as straightforward as Dumbledore had made it seem.

The headmaster had made it look easy and he had been right when it came to actually entering a memory, which didn't require more than touching the liquid. The rest, however, was quite complicated. Besides spells for retrieving a memory – depending on if it pertained to one's own mind or a hostile or willing other, with many tweaks depending on age of the memory – using the pensieve required a manual. Harry was very glad he flipped through the rest of the booklet otherwise he may never have figured out how to exit the pensieve again when he was done.

All in all, it took him until lunchtime before he felt confident enough to try.

That gave him time to think of a strategy though, and when he was finally ready to pull out copies of his memories he focussed on the summer after his Fifth year and specifically memories of him reading the Daily Prophet.

Retrieving a memory felt slippery and weird, a little like when Dudley had put long strands of grass in his nose when he was five and he had taken care pulling them out very, very slowly. He drew thick, sirupy, silvery strands from his temple, rotating his wand all the while so they pooled around it like a cocoon. When it was complete he flicked it towards the pensieve, muttering under his breath in faux Latin and watched the whole thing slide off and uncurl in the basin.

Harry dove into the pensieve headfirst and let himself fall until he once more stood in Dudley's hated second bedroom on Privet Drive. His fifteen year old self was lying despondently on the creaky bed, a newspaper lying discarded on the wooden floor.

Instead of a clear view of the hell-hole, though, it was decidedly rough around the edges.

Harry grumbled as he got to his knees near the paper and twisted his head this way and that to try and make out the details. Instinctively he tried to adjust the paper – smooth out crinkles, look at it from another angle – but his fingers passed right through, the paper dissolving into so much parchment-coloured smoke before slowly reforming into exactly what it had looked like before.

He sighed. Nothing was ever easy, it seemed. Fortunately he could make out the headline, proclaiming the death of the DMLE head. Reading the article was beyond him though, so he didn't have any details. Worse, he couldn't read the date, which was really what he went through all this trouble for.

However, back then, like a true and seasoned inmate he had counted the days of his imprisonment. A sheet of paper on the wall was partitioned into boxes, with a depressingly small number crossed off in red ink. Crude though it was, it served as a calendar in a pinch and Harry wiggled his wand to exit the pensieve, lost in thought.

Amelia Bones was going to be attacked soon, it seemed. And by telling her as much, he would have an in to speak to her.

He asked the room for a desk and writing implements and bit the end of the quill as he composed a note.

__Dear Madam Bones,__

__Through a convoluted series of events, I have acquired information regarding ____an ____attack on your person by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Specifically, ____it pertains to____a ____large attack on your family manor very early Tuesday morning that Voldemort himself will take part in.__

__Regardless of your opinion on the accuracy of my information I recommend taking precautions. Carry Floo powder and a portkey wherever you go. Ward and hide a room in the house to withstand almost anything. Dig a hole or even a tunnel. Anything, but being forced to fight and die.__

__Should this information prove to be accurate, I would be very interested in meeting with you. I can be reached at Hogwarts, where I have accepted the post of Divination Teacher for the next school year.__

__Make of that what you wish.__

__Yours sincerely,__

__Harry White__

He his stomach rebel a little at playing the role of mysteriously omniscient Seer. Trelawney had done that and he had not an ounce of respect for the woman. Still, dimensional travel was just as outlandish an idea and he was not putting that in a letter that would quite likely be read by other people. He would confide in the woman if he had to, but not her underlings or anyone that intercepted owls.

He just hoped Madam Bones would prove to be the ally that he needed.

* * *

The next few days passed slowly. Harry actively avoided every other resident of the castle, though apart from the Headmaster he wasn't sure if there actually was anybody else that lived there during the summers. This theory was supported by his observation of Professor Sprout leaving the grounds with a trio of suitcases floating by her side.

As a result of his seclusion he didn't see or speak to another soul but Tilly, who had apparently appointed himself his personal elf in the castle. It came as a bit of a surprise actually, that he was being allowed such leeway by the Order. Of course, he __had __stated that he would never join Voldemort while connected to a lie detector so there was a tiny bit of trust there.

His wounds healed up and with help of a salve Madam Pomfrey had had delivered the scars had even faded a little, even if they were still obvious. Fortunately, besides their appearance, they didn't really bother him, nor did they impede his movements. He was no longer surprised by the new face in the mirror, even if he grieved for the loss of yet another connection to his parents.

Without anything else to do Harry spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement going over his memories, especially those of reading the paper. He realised that they were his best bargaining chip, should he need one.

He knew of attacks that were going to happen and people that were going to get killed. He knew names and faces of Death Eaters. As head of the DMLE the woman would kill for that kind of intel.

He viciously ignored Hermione's voice in the back of his head chanting, "saving people thing," over and over. It was a bargaining chip. Nothing more.

Meticulously he had written down all he could discern from his blurry memories in a set of notes to include any and all deaths and injuries that could be prevented if things happened the same way. The hazy and faded memories had made things difficult though.

The pensieve booklet had suggested learning Occlumency as a way to strengthen the mind and clear up memories, but Harry had so far shied away from that. He realised that if he would truly be forced to come face to face with both Dumbledore and Snape on a regular basis one or both of them might try Legilimency at some point and his secrets would then be forfeit. However, the memories of Snape's attempts to literally pound the subject into his head were very vivid and he really didn't want to try something like that again.

All in all, he felt prepared but very nervous as he paced his rooms Tuesday morning as he waited for Tilly to deliver him a paper. Almost as soon as the little elf arrived he snatched the Daily Prophet out of his hands and devoured the headlines.

****DMLE Head Amelia Bones attacked!****

His heart beat loudly in his chest as he devoured the article and his hands were so clammy the paper darkened where he gripped it. Fortunately it only took a few sentences before he sighed in relief.

Madam Bones had indeed been attacked, but she had escaped without serious injury. One of the Aurors guarding her _was_ in St. Mungo's, though. That hadn't happened the first time, as far as he knew.

Nevertheless Harry was grinning widely as he put the paper down. It had worked! The woman was alive! The DMLE was not turned over to a self-righteous arse but remained in the hands of a woman who could and would help him.

The grin turned even wider when a Ministry owl swooped in minutes later carrying an invitation.

* * *

"Madam Bones will see you now," the fair-haired assistant informed Harry in the small waiting room near the Auror offices. He stood up and nervously fiddled with the silver badge the visitors desk had supplied him with. He'd tried to say as little as possible and as such the badge simply read, 'meeting'.

His first impression of the Head of the DMLE was that she was both fierce and bloody stubborn. The fifty year old woman had a satisfied smirk on her face of someone who had gone into battle and emerged, if not victorious, than at least not worse than the other guy. The Prophet had understated her injuries, judging by how she winced and gripped her side when she got to her feet and held out her right arm to shake his hand before realising that it was bandaged and hastily withdrawing it.

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. White, and thank you for sending that letter. Being prepared likely saved my life and that of my guards."

Harry flushed and averted his gaze as he took a seat, as always uncomfortable with praise. "I'm glad you're all right. You are okay, right?" He gestured to her arm. "The Prophet barely mentioned your injuries."

Her smirk turned wider. "When an older woman lands a hit on a dangerous Dark Lord it's important to make it look like she didn't get off any worse than he did."

Harry gaped at her. "You actually got him?"

She grinned viciously. "Broke his arm and pierced his shoulder." She quickly sobered, though. "Of course he'll be healed up by now and angry as hell."

Harry shuddered. "Hopefully he'll take it out on his minions."

"We can always hope." She nodded briskly. "Now, in your letter you mentioned you wanted to speak with me and you'll understand if I have a great many questions myself."

Harry smiled wryly. "I will tell you how I knew what was going to happen, but before I do I'm going to ask for your discretion."

She stared at him. It made him feel very uncomfortable and he fidgeted in his seat but didn't change his mind. He would not be used as a research subject by the Ministry because she couldn't keep her trap shut.

"I will uphold the law, Mr. White, regardless of how often you save my life," she said finally. "You have my gratitude, but I'll not sweep any crimes under the rug."

"Oh no, that's not what I meant," he said hastily. "I'm reporting others for their actions, however, I'd like it if you could not shout the details of my... situation from the rooftops."

She raised a single eyebrow. "Provided the law is on your side that seems reasonable."

Harry slumped in relief. "Thank you."

He took a deep breath and started his story. "A little over two weeks ago Trelawney outed that prophecy to the Prophet and Dumbledore panicked. Somehow, he got his hands on a ritual to summon someone from another dimension and he and his entire Order decided to go fishing between worlds." He growled and his eyes flashed. "I was eating dinner when a vortex appeared almost killing everyone there, including my one year old godson."

Harry recounted waking up with scars all over his body and the meeting with the Order after.

"I want them arrested for kidnapping, torture and anything else you can throw at them," he snarled, breathing heavily. "I want to bleed them dry of any gold they have until they are nothing but paupers and then I want the lot of them in Azkaban in the deepest dankest hole in that pit."

Madam Bones watched him rant and rave with no reaction barring the tightening of her lips into a white line. When he finished she busied herself with polishing the monocle that hung from a thin gold chain from her lapel.

"I see," she murmured. "Unique though your case is, crime is typically the purview of the Auror Office..." She trailed off as she seemed to come to a realisation. "Ah. Some of Dumbledore's lot work there, I imagine."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Jones and Shacklebolt intercepted my owl or barged in on the investigation and concluded that there was 'no evidence of any crime'." He mimed making quotes with his fingers.

"Bastards," he spat before showing a bloodthirsty grin at his own resourcefulness. "So I went over their heads."

"I see," she said again, before straightening. "Unfortunately I am unsure as to the specific legalities surrounding your case. I have never handled a case with dimensional travel and I don't know what laws apply specifically."

Harry scowled as he tightly gripped the edge of his seat with both hands. "Why does it matter? Kidnapping is kidnapping no matter where I lived before. They took me from my home in a way that prevents me from going back. Just arrest the lot of them already."

She huffed impatiently. "Unless they argue that you weren't born on this world and thus you aren't a wizard or even human and as such our laws don't apply to you." She shrugged. "It's what I would argue as defence counsel and so far I can't think of an appropriate counter."

Harry shot to his feet so fast his chair scooted backwards and crashed against the wall. "They're going to get away with this? You're just going to-"

"Sit. Down," Madam Bones bit out, glaring at him.

Despite his anger Harry instinctively cowered a little before her and turned away to upright his chair again. Merlin but the woman was frightening when she was riled.

"I will not _let_ them do anything," she said icily. "Their actions are morally reprehensible and for that I will throw the book at them. However, I must work within the bounds of the law. On top of that, the Minister may well override a shoddy trial depending on who bribed him this day of the week and Dumbledore is quite capable of manoeuvring the Wizengamot on his own."

Harry deflated and slumped in his chair. "How then?"

"Firstly, I will research dimensional travel to see if there is a precedent or if there are laws that I'm simply not familiar with. However, even if there aren't, there are many ways to approach a problem." She held up a finger when he was about to interrupt. "For instance, a large category of rituals are banned. Do you know which one they used, what sacrifices they made, details?"

Harry shook his head. "Whatever their source, there were no books in Hogwarts with specifics and when I arrived I was not in any condition to observe what they were doing."

She pursed her lips. "Their sources will be well hidden by now, I'm sure. Well, according to Poppy Pomfrey your scarring was caused by Dark magic, so we can fine them for that, at least."

Harry waited for her to continue and eyed her incredulously when she didn't. "Fine them? _Fine them!?"_ he yelled. "That's not good enough!"

Madam Bones rolled her eyes and slammed fist down on the desk with a crash. Immediately shackles grew from his chair and restrained him.

Harry bucked wildly and glared venomously at the woman on the other side of the desk.

"_Silencio!"_ she incanted with an exaggerated movement like she was schooling a five year old.

"I have not the patience to deal with your tantrum, Mr. White. I was attacked by the Dark Lord himself this morning and frankly I have bigger problems. Speaking of which, I think it's my turn to get some questions answered."

She got to her feet and leant over her desk as she glared him down at him with cold blue eyes. "Are you going to behave."

Mulishly, Harry nodded, though he scowled fiercely.

Wordlessly she released him and cancelled the Silencing Charm before sitting down. Harry rolled his shoulders, which he had strained while trying to escape the chains. He didn't look up or meet her eyes.

"Now, from your story I take it that my counterpart was attacked on your world on this day, which is how you knew about the one here?" she prodded in a calm voice like nothing at all had happened.

"Yes," he grunted, still angry at being dismissed like an unruly child. "You died."

"Thank you for saving my life then." She sounded genuinely grateful and Harry's head shot up to look at her once more. He searched her eyes, but there was no sign of deception there and he deflated as his anger drained away until his temper merely simmered.

"You're welcome," he muttered.

"Do you know of any other such attacks?"

Hastily he nodded. "Yeah. I made a list."

His hand disappeared in his robe and she briefly tensed but relaxed when it emerged holding two sheafs of parchment. He slid the first across the desk.

"This is a list of attacks that I remember for the coming months. People, places, dates. I can't be sure that everything will happen the same way here as it did back home, but many of them might."

"Extraordinary," she breathed as she looked it over. "Despite the price you paid, you may be saving many lives through your actions, Mr. White."

Harry looked at his shoes. "Yeah, well, all things considered I would rather be back home."

She gave a small smile. "I understand, but your actions are nonetheless commendable."

Harry fidgeted and she gestured to parchment he still held. "What's that one, then?"

The scowl on Harry's face grew into a smirk as he placed the second piece of parchment on the desk. "You'll possibly be even more impressed with this one."

She blinked and opened it slowly before giving him a piercing look. "Is this what I think it is?"

His smirk turned into a satisfied grin. "A list of every known Death Eater on my world."

She stared at the piece of parchment with a blank look and shifted her gaze to look at him instead before her shoulders slumped and she released the parchment to flutter down onto the desk.

"I can't use this," she whispered.

"What?" he asked incredulously, "Why not?"

She sighed and slumped back into her chair. "Evidence from another dimension is hardly admissible in court."

Harry blinked. "Screw the court!" He gestured wildly. "These are murderers and terrorists. Just arrest them, pump them full of Veritaserum and toss them in Azkaban."

"I will not 'screw the court'," she said, throwing him a withering look. Belatedly he realised that he was talking to the Head of the Department of Magical __Law Enforcement__.

"You know what I mean," he sputtered, "They're Death Eaters!"

She shook her head. "Like you said, just because on your world someone named Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater is not evidence that someone named Lucius Malfoy here is too. After all, your home world would not be a different dimension if everything there was the same as it is here. By its very definition, dimensional evidence cannot be used."

"But," he sputtered, "those are details. That's what Veritaserum is for, isn't it? If you do pick up someone who turns out to be innocent you'll know and you can just let them go!"

"Unfortunately I can't authorise the use of Veritaserum without leave from the courts, which they will not grant based on your word alone."

Harry stared at her open mouthed.

This could not be happening. Was she really using the law to justify __not__arresting Death Eaters?

"So that's it then?" He sneered at the woman. "The infamous Amelia Bones, straightest arrow in the Ministry, champion of law and order, is going to sit back and do nothing. You call Dumbledore's flunkies 'morally reprehensible' but won't arrest them and now you won't even go after Voldemort's?" He threw up his hands in disgust. "Do you even care how many innocent people are going to die?"

Her ice cold glare could have withered plants at a hundred paces. "Calm yourself or you can cool your heels in a holding cell for a few days."

Harry clenched his jaw in an effort from restraining his tongue. He was just so bloody frustrated with _everyone_ in this world. Unfortunately Madam Bones was not quite done.

"Before you accuse me of risking innocent people, do you even understand the consequences of your own accusations?"

"What?" he asked belligerently. "I'm asking you to put criminals in jail. Isn't that your job?"

"It is," she hissed, "but you are also asking to set the Ministry against one of its most effective allies in a war that is just now starting." She glared him down and raised her voice. "On top of that, from what I know Order members are just everyday people banding together in an effort to help their fellow witches and wizards. Their identities are secret for a reason. Accusing them as you want to will put them right on top of You-Know-Who's hit list, _including their innocent families and friends!_"

She was breathing heavily by the end of her rant, growling like an angry dragon a hair away from frying its next meal.

"Are you quite ready to sacrifice innocent lives to satisfy your vendetta?" she asked icily.

Harry's hands balled into fists at her accusation, but the anger that had pooled in his gut for days now felt like it was suddenly doused in ice water.

Sacrifice.

Was that what he was doing?

He was angry, yes; he had every right to be. But there was a line he had never and would never cross and that one word made him wonder if he was about to.

Sacrifice.

Sod the Order and Voldemort and the Ministry all to eternal damnation, but he couldn't.

He slumped in his chair in defeat and hid his head in his hands

"So what would you have me do?" he asked, suddenly so very tired. "Am I to let them just go free, for the greater good?"

"Of course not," she said, disgusted and he perked up a little. "You did what you should have and alerted the Aurors. Doing so through me is unconventional, but acceptable in this case. If they have broken the law then we'll throw the book at them. That is how the system works."

Harry frowned. "But you just said-"

"_When_ we do so, however," she interrupted, "is critical in this instance. With You-Know-Who terrorising the country once more we have bigger fish to fry."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining her equilibrium. "I would propose that we postpone the pursuit of legal action until the Dark Lord and his followers are captured or killed. Would that be acceptable to you?"

Harry exhaled heavily. Part of him wanted the Order to burn in the fiery pits of hell, but he couldn't deny that he wanted Voldemort and his flunkies to do the same. Did it really matter which set preceded the other?

"Your word," he said softly as he held her eyes. "I want your world that you'll not let this be swept under the rug if I agree to hold off for now."

She nodded solemnly. "You have it."

Harry collapsed in his chair, his head reeling with all the sodding changes in his life. "So what do I do now," he asked, completely at a loss.

Madam Bones shrugged. "I'll do some quick research about your rights and circumstances, but I advise you to be careful and lay low while I do so."

Wordlessly Harry gestured for her to continue.

"Like I said, an argument could be made that you are not a conventional human, or at least don't have the rights of one. Are you familiar with laws pertaining to beings and creatures?"

"Only that they're prejudiced," he muttered as he let his head loll back, already feeling where this was going.

"That is one way to describe them," she allowed. "It would be best if you did not fall afoul of them."

"Fantastic," he muttered.

For a few minutes the pair of them sat in silence, each pondering the boatload of information they had just received.

Harry was the first to break it. "What about the little stuff? For example, I have an Apparition Licence back home."

"Well that one isn't valid here," she said apologetically. "You'll have to apply for a new one. Which you can't because you're not actually a British citizen."

He let out a thouroughly frustrated whine. "What if I break the law? Aren't you supposed to contact my home country in such a case? Pretty tough when I have none available."

She rolled her eyes at his petulant behaviour. "You would make a horrible barrister. As a counterargument I could posit that the Veil is a valid method of extradition in your case."

Harry exhaled loudly. "So presumably I have no legal rights, no resources and no home."

"I'll try to find exactly what laws apply to you," she said kindly. "If you're staying here then you'll need at least British citizenship, though I'll have to look up how to apply for it as you're a special case. In return, however, if you remember anything else I want you to let me know immediately."

She smirked. "The Aurors may be understaffed and underfunded but with advance notice of attacks we can make what little we have count."

Harry gave a brisk nod. He was probably going to do that anyway. It was a relief, actually, to be able to hand off responsibility of his knowledge to the woman. A measure of revenge for all those killed on his own world, as it were.

For a moment he considered spilling the Horcrux secret. Doing so would absolve him of any and all responsibility, but he was reluctant. It was clear Madam Bones would follow the letter of the law and probably involve others. And nothing ever stayed secret in the Ministry.

While he didn't want to fight Voldemort again and had no plans to do so, he didn't feel like helping the blighter either. Giving him advance notice and the opportunity to hide his soul pieces in different places would do exactly that.

When Harry didn't offer any more information Madam Bones stood, once more wincing and gripping her side. "Either way, I thank you for helping save my life, and possibly a whole host of others."

Recognising the dismissal Harry nodded to her and made to leave. Getting the Order their just desserts was more complicated than it first appeared. But, it would seem he did finally make an ally in this world.

* * *

Madam Bones's owl found him two days later in his rooms.

__Dear Mr. White,__

__From what I have been able to find out there ____do exist____ protocols regarding dimensional travellers. By law you are required to present yourself to the Department of Mysteries. I recommend you do so as soon as humanly possible.__

__Yours sincerely,__

__Amelia Bones__

__Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,  
Ministry of Magic__

Harry scratched his head. That was decidedly unhelpful. While he had chosen to reveal himself to Madam Bones, he had done so for a multitude of reasons, one of which was that he was somewhat certain where her loyalties lay.

On the other hand, contacting the Department of Mysteries like she suggested would see him trusting not a single person but an entire Department in a building riddled with Voldemort's spies. Worse, he could not even vet the people that worked there, because they were Unspeakables and as such completely anonymous. The only name he did know was Rookwood, and that was because the man was fired from the Unspeakables upon his incarceration in Azkaban __for being a Death Eater__. Hardly a ringing endorsement.

There were just too many negatives to following this law Madam Bones had unearthed that Harry decided to live with the consequences of being an illegal alien for the moment.

A second ministry owl entered through the open window and Harry resignedly watched it land.

Why did he even think he would get the chance of deciding for himself?

Sure enough, the crest marked it as coming from the Department of Mysteries.

__Dear Mr. White,__

__As an unregistered dimensional traveller you are required to present yourself to the Department of Mysteries within two days time for study and registration. This letter will serve as verification of your summons.__

__Yours sincerely,__

__Unspeakable Brown__

__Department of Mysteries,  
Ministry of Magic__

A snarl ripped from his throat.

There went his anonymity. Bloody Bones.

He sprang to his feet and jumped down the trap door, angrily striding through the corridors until he arrived at the Room of Requirement. Furiously he started pacing, focussing on his absolute need to send a Howler.

* * *

**A/N:** Harry takes his first actions with regards to the war that is just beginning, even if only from a distance. And thus is the can-solve-any-ministry-problem Amelia Bones cliché subverted. Nice lady, but a little too shackled to impractical principles to be of much use.

Poor Harry. I'm really not very nice to him. Snigger.

Still, I hope I have allayed some worries that Harry will just let everyone walk over him.

Recommendation of the week: World in Pieces by Lomonaaeren. I don't think I've used any of it in this story, but it's a marvellous dimension travel tale all on its own.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	5. Press 2 to rent a negotiating hero

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Excerpt from Chapter 4**

__Dear Mr. White,__

__As an unregistered dimensional traveller you are required to present yourself to the Department of Mysteries within two days time for study and registration. This letter will serve as verification of your summons.__

__Yours sincerely,__

__Unspeakable Brown__

__Department of Mysteries,  
Ministry of Magic__

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Press 2. to rent a negotiating hero**

"Interview with Harry White, no middle name on Thursday July 1st, 1996," the grey-robed individual said in a heavily altered voice that completely obscured whether it belonged to a male or female.

Harry was seated in a small office on the other side of the desk from his interviewer. Besides the clipboard on which the individual was currently writing the desk was empty. Like the Unspeakable, the entire room was bare of anything recognisable. There were several cabinets and drawers, but everything was bland, closed and looked forbidding.

This morning he'd simply walked into the spinning round room with all the doors, clutching his letter and waited for the nausea to stop and for someone to come for him. It hadn't taken long until someone had come hurrying through the doors. Harry would have said he or she looked frazzled, except, well... he or she was wearing a formless grey cloak with a hood.

"You claim to be a dimensional traveller?"

"Yes. By the way, not to be offensive or anything, but are you a man or a woman?"

There was a beat of silence. "You may think of me as male."

The... man made a note of something and Harry got the distinct impression that if this was a test for something he would have just been failed.

"How did you come to arrive in this dimension?"

"I was... summoned."

"I see. When did the summoning occur?"

"Almost two weeks ago now."

The man tilted his head. "And how come you are only presenting yourself here now? Doing so is required by law."

"I didn't know I needed to," Harry protested. He didn't say that after he found out he had spent every waking moment before the deadline inventing a backstory and agonising over what to reveal.

"I see," the man said as his quill scratched on the parchment. Besides that and Harry's breathing it was completely silent in the room.

It made him nervous and he had to work hard not to fidget. Had they caught on already? Who knows what kind of magic the Unspeakables studied, maybe they didn't need like detectors to catch him out.

Fortunately the man changed topics. Harry inwardly thanked Merlin and Morgana even as he didn't let his relief show on his face.

"With regards to the summoning, describe your experience, please."

"Painful," he snarked, masking the awful memories that threatened to surge with dark wit.

A beat of silence. "Please elaborate."

Apparently the price of admission to the Unspeakables was one's sense of humour.

Harry shivered as he remembered the jump. "It hurt. I remember a crushing sensation and feeling like my skin was being sliced and sometimes ripped off."

"You were alive on arrival?"

This time it was Harry who remained silent for a bit out of incredulity. "I thought that would be obvious?"

"It is not."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I recall hitting a hard surface. That may or may not have been my arrival. I do know I was unconscious until I woke up under the care of a healer. At that point in time I was alive."

The questioning continued for more than an hour. This man was obviously some kind of scientist, asking about the mechanics and sensations. Harry dearly hoped he would not try to recreate whatever happened and tried to make his descriptions as vivid as possible, hoping to deter him. He wasn't having much luck.

Things didn't turn any less frustrating after, either as question after question was shot at him.

"Did you have fish in the sea?"

"Yes?"

"Did the platypus truly belong in your dimension?"

"I think so, though I never saw one."

"Was the number of spells cast by a wizard proportional to the amount of time he would sleep afterwards?"

"Um, what?"

On and on the questioning went until eventually, the topic turned to less academic details.

"Who participated in your summoning?"

And there it was. If the answer to this question was ever made public Voldemort would know his summoning had something to do with the war and Harry would forever have to look over his shoulder. Unfortunately he had mentioned Dumbledore to Madam Bones and he didn't know what information she might have passed on.

"Hasn't Madam Bones already told you that?" he asked with feigned nonchalance. Lying like a Slytherin was Plan A but he needed to know if that was still an option.

"She spoke with my colleague," came the utterly bland answer.

Damn. So much for Plan A.

Undoubtedly the pair would compare notes at some point and he didn't dare let himself be caught out in a lie lest they drag him back later and pump him full of Veritaserum. In that case even his fake identity would be revealed and there was no way he was opening that can of worms.

Well, if his answer was going to bite him in the arse later he would not go down alone. Time for Plan B.

"There were apparently a great many people involved; I don't know their names. I do know Albus Dumbledore led the effort."

"Interesting," the man remarked, sounding anything but. "Do you know what means were used?"

"Nothing but that it was a ritual. I don't know specifics."

Soon the questions turned more personal, date of birth, weight, next of kin; the kind of questions that would usually be asked using a standardized form were this not so rare an occurrence that such a form did not exist.

Answering felt a great deal like a test, one he had spent days studying for. Never was he so grateful at extensive revision, having spent hours and hours polishing his back story until it gleamed so brightly it was impossible to see the holes he couldn't cover through the glare.

Finally, the Unspeakable requested a vial of his blood.

Harry warily eyed the man. This he hadn't expected. "What do you want it for?"

"Research."

Depending on how closely linked he was to the Iris Potter of this world they might find all sorts of things he didn't want known. Also, the last time someone had used his blood Voldemort was resurrected.

"I respectfully decline," he said cautiously.

There was a long pause.

"Very well," the Unspeakable said, finally folding all of his scribbled parchments back into place on his clipboard. "Remain here, I will return shortly."

Left alone Harry was filled with an urge to check the various cabinets and drawers for treasures, but if he had learned nothing else from Snape, it was that snooping when someone left the room for a short while would come back to bite him in the arse.

The short while turned longer and an hour later found Harry tapping his fingers on the desk in a made-up rhythm to relieve the boredom.

Suddenly the door opened, startling him into jumping. Two Unspeakables strode in. One of them conjured an exact copy of the single drab grey chair in the room and both of them sat identically. He had no idea which one was his previous host, or if he was seeing two new people.

"Mr. White, you are provisionally cleared to remain in this realm for the time being."

Harry frowned. "What does that mean exactly?"

"That we will not immediately toss you through the Veil," the other replied promptly.

He gulped. He hadn't even realised that was a possibility had this interview not gone to plan. After all, it wasn't his fault that he was here, right?

"That's good, I guess," he said weakly.

"Indeed. One of us might have strained a muscle." The cold modulation of the voice turned a potentially humorous comment into a callous one.

"What about me? I mentioned my Apparition Licence before. Is my old one still valid?"

Both shook their heads. "Any and all documentation you may or may not have had in your previous life is invalid. We cannot retrieve it, thus we must assume it did not exist in the first place."

"Makes sense, even if I don't like it. I'll have to get a new Licence, then?"

Only one of them shook his head. "You cannot. That would require you to be a British citizen."

Harry bit back an irritated comment. "How do I get recognised as a British citizen then?"

"You don't," came the infuriatingly calm reply. "You were not born here and dimensional travel is not a recognised form of immigration."

"The Department of Mysteries will eventually evaluate the legalities surrounding your existence in this realm," the other added.

Harry was almost afraid to ask. "And how long will that take?"

"Six to twelve months."

Pause.

"Six to twelve months!?" he yelled. "Why the bloody hell will it take that long?"

"Among other things we are currently..." Pause. "...remodelling."

Harry blinked. Well, when he broke in back home they had pretty much thrashed the place. Presumably the same happened here. Still, it was remarkably bad timing.

He breathed in deeply to reign in his temper. "And until then, what are my rights? Because without British citizenship I cannot even retake any exams, and without an education or documentation I will not exactly have a choice of jobs."

"Until the situation resolves itself you are essentially the summoner's responsibility."

A sick feeling in his gut told him he really didn't want to know. "And my rights?"

"Very few. There are no laws specifically aimed at dimensional travellers and since you were not born of this world an argument could be made you are not even human. You would be considered a sentient creature at best."

"What about the muggle world?" he asked desperately.

"You are confined to Britain for the time being. While that includes the Muggle world, you do not exist there either and unlike here your presence cannot be eventually explained. Any situation that requires your presence to be documented is ill advised."

Harry closed his eyes. There it was. Under Dumbledore's thumb without anyone to turn to.

It wasn't exactly unexpected, but that didn't make it any less disheartening to get confirmation.

"I see," he said weakly. "Is there anything else?"

"We would really like a vial of your blood. It might help speed up the process a little..."

Harry shot the pair of them a scathing look.

"In that case, no, there is nothing else."

They stood in unison and one of them led him to the exit. The door shut as soon as he stepped across the threshold and a squelching sound indicated it was sealed as well.

The only positive thought that came to him was that at least it would be marginally harder to get at his records now.

* * *

Harry slowly ambled across the Hogwarts grounds on the way back from the Ministry, his lack of direction mimicking how lost he felt.

For all intents and purposes Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was his lord and master.

He sank down on a boulder by the forest as the hopelessness of his situation weighed on him. What was he going to do?

The last time he'd been under Dumbledore's thumb Harry had followed the Headmaster's plans and danced to his tune until the man died, after which he had followed the plans and danced to the tune of the man's Merlin-be-damned memory.

It was fairly pathetic all around, but back then he hadn't quite had his eyes opened.

Boy, were they ever now.

Here he was, on a different world and the man was up to shenanigans again with Harry at the centre of his plots.

Reluctantly he turned his head to look across the grounds, for the first time really taking in the scene.

The lake was utterly still, a perfect mirror for the clouds blanketing the sky on this typical Scottish summer day. The grounds looked empty without playing children. Now they were just hills topped with grass, here and there scarred by failed teenage attempts to cast spells. Finally, by his side, forcing him to crick his neck as he turned his head the whole way the Forbidden Forest loomed like a crotchety neighbour that parents warn their children away from.

Harry looked at the massive trees and scowled as he instinctively balled his fists.

There was a clearing in that forest that marked his greatest shame - the time he had given up, no matter how necessary it had seemed at the time. He had allowed himself to be killed in the culmination of Albus Dumbledore's plotting and planning.

Damn that man.

Angrily he threw a pebble at one of the largest trees in sight. It bounced with a satisfying thud and the undergrowth bristled as it fell.

With narrowed eyes he tried to make out if it had left a mark on the bark at all – a scuff, a scratch or even a dent – but either it was too far away to see or the tree was simply much hardier than a mere pebble.

He sighed in frustration and closed his eyes as he focussed on his breathing in an effort to relieve some of the tension. His thoughts rampaged through his mind like debris in a tornado but the image of the Forbidden Forest would not leave him alone.

The emotion colouring the image changed, however as in a surprisingly comforting revelation he remembered that though it was home to his greatest shame, it marked his greatest victory as well. It was the place where he gave up and died, but rose to fight again.

There, in that very clearing, was the place he had truly beaten Voldemort. The man had finally died half an hour later inside the castle, but this was where he'd been rendered mortal, through love and sacrifice, something no one else could have done but he.

He, Harry Potter. Not some mythical storybook hero. Not a one hundred and fifty year old garishly clad wizard with a beard long enough to weave into clothing. Him.

He narrowed his eyes. Comparing his actions back then with those in the past week was rather jarring. What the hell had he been doing?

He'd ranted and raved, sought for ways out and been blocked at every turn. His angry outbursts were like those of a teenage girl in a tiff after finding her boyfriend kissing another; lashing out at the world in a childish display of temper that ultimately served nothing but to make everyone unhappy. Really, his only true victory was the establishment of a cover identity, something he'd come up with on the spot and only succeeded at because he had been drugged.

That needed to stop.

He took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to sit up straight and square his shoulders. It was time to stop reacting and start making his own plans.

Those poor little fools had no idea who they had messed with when called him from his home.

He was Harry bloody Potter and he was nobody's puppet.

A feeling of serenity and peace came over him, like the gods themselves were blessing his plans and intentions. His facial muscles relaxed and his mouth curved into a gentle smile. When he looked around the world even seemed brighter than only a moment ago.

Literally so, as a luminous silvery streak shot across the grounds and came to a halt in front of him where the glowing white smoke coalesced into... a phoenix patronus that spoke with Dumbledore's voice.

"Could you make your way to the Great Hall, Mr. White? There's a few things we should speak about."

The patronus dissolved immediately after delivering the message, taking the peace and serenity with it.

Harry stared open-mouthed at where it had been before closing his mouth with a snap of teeth and narrowed his eyes. With exaggerated care he wiped his hands on his jeans as he thought furiously before slowly getting to his feet.

Determination burned in his eyes.

Now was as good a time as any.

* * *

The Great Hall doors were locked.

Harry had had a moment of deja-vu as he rapped his knuckles on the hard wood. The gesture hardly made any noise on the dense oak and achieved nothing beyond hurting his hand.

Irritated, he retreated two steps and sent a Knockback Jinx at the right half of the double doors. The massive slab of wood rattled in its frame and Harry smirked. Those inside would have definitely heard that.

Indeed, a soft glow and a loud click signified the door unlocking and Harry pushed it open only to come to a full stop just beyond the threshold.

The feeling of deja-vu grew stronger as for the second time in as many weeks he came face to face with a room filled with members of the Order of the Phoenix. Had he known, he would not have chosen to set foot in this company again, which, in retrospect, was probably why Dumbledore's message had lacked any mention them.

Before he could even think of turning right back around Dumbledore shot several spells past him, closing and locking the door once more and very effectively preventing him from escaping.

"Getting off to a wonderful start already," Harry muttered, scowling, but he curbed his instinct to start ranting at the lot of them. Instead he clenched his jaw and squared his shoulders while his gaze took in the assembled people.

Twenty-something Order members were once more huddled around the Gryffindor table with Dumbledore at its head sitting in one of his conjured plush armchairs. Harry stalked in their direction before passing them completely and taking a stand with his back to the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

It was a stance of feigned nonchalance as it allowed him to keep everyone in his line of sight, while his wand hand was quite close to his opposite sleeve allowing him to draw his wand at a moment's notice. The only thing betraying the tension he felt were his eyes, which flashed angrily as they flitted across faces, alert for any kind of threat.

"You asked for me, Headmaster?" He tried for a forcibly even tone, but instead it just came out silky and bitterly sarcastic. Only after he spoke did he realise how much his actions and tone resembled those of the greasy bat of the dungeons just now and he blanched.

His eyes sought Snape out in the crowd and widened slightly when he couldn't find him. Had something happened to him? Was he not a spy here? Or were they keeping his identity secret?

Unfortunately he wasn't the only one to have noticed the similarities.

"There's two of them now?" Tonks whispered in dismay, her voice echoing farther than she'd intended in the silence. Remus, who was seated next to her, choked back what could either have been a laugh or a sob before straightening and sliding two inches along the bench, farther away from her.

Harry stared at the parents of his godson and their very uncharacteristic mating dance. Obviously Tonks hadn't caught her wolf yet. She noticed him staring though and her pink hair wilted slightly, the tips turning a faint yellow as she averted her eyes.

"Indeed I did," Dumbledore interrupted, eyes twinkling happily. He turned to Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Kingsley, you're the only one who hasn't reported yet, can you make it quick?"

A solemn nod was his answer and the man stood at attention to begin his report. "The Death Eater attack on the Millennium and Brockdale bridges in London yesterday killed some hundred Muggles and injured another sixty or so. The only good news is that there were no children among the dead. The Muggle Prime Minister knew wizards were involved before I was able to tell him though, because the Obliviators missed a witness. The man is absolutely furious. He demanded we get the Ministry in order and 'confine these terrorists to our little secret society'. His words."

Kingsley's voice was deep and warm while his attitute was that of a consummate professional. It was a harsh contrast with the cold, miserable facts he was summarising.

Harry clenched his jaw but otherwise did not outwardly react. Inside, however, his thoughts were running a mile a minute. The list he'd given Madam Bones had this attack practically at the top. What the hell happened?

Dumbledore bowed his head. "I think a moment of silence is in order. Let us remember the innocent men and women whose lives were so tragically cut short."

In solidarity Harry closed his eyes and inwardly spoke a brief prayer for the poor departed souls even as he tried not to feel guilty for not doing more to save them. A stubborn tear burned a trail down his cheek anyway and angrily he swiped it away.

He'd alerted the one in charge of preventing these kinds of things to the attack days beforehand, dammit. Everything that happened after was _not_ his fault.

"Thank you," Dumbledore spoke once more, breaking the silence and Harry swallowed thickly. "It is important to remember those that are lost to us, but even more so to never lose hope."

Harry shook his head to clear it and opened his eyes to find Dumbledore staring at him over his half-moon glasses.

"For hope can be found in many forms if only we know where to look for it."

Harry held his gaze for a moment, until the Headmaster broke it and turned to the Order members.

"Thank you, Kingsley. Your work with the Prime Minister is invaluable."

Kingsley nodded in thanks and sat down again.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "With regular Order business concluded that brings us to Mr. White, our visitor from another world, whom we last spoke with a week ago. I am hopeful that now that tempers have had time to cool we can work together."

Harry gave that remark all the attention it deserved and ignored it utterly.

"Visitor implies having a choice, Headmaster," Harry interjected with a patently false smile.

"True," Dumbledore admitted softly, regretfully. He straightened, absently flicking aside his beard and twinkling blue eyes that shone with sincerity met Harry's. "On behalf of the Order of the Phoenix I would like to apologise for any and all hardship that you have suffered here."

Harry stared at him.

"Prophecy has laid the weight of our world on the shoulders of a fifteen year old girl. Nobody in this world can help her in her task. We were desperate and realised that calling for a hero was at best morally ambiguous, but at least then the burden would fall to an adult, someone trained and fitting the qualities we asked for." He let out a deep sigh. "We expected Merlin reincarnated, which in hindsight was quite foolish of us. That does not, however, excuse our deplorable behaviour in interrogating you in such a hostile fashion when it became apparent that you play a part in a way we had not foreseen and do not yet understand."

"I... What?" Harry's mouth snapped shut in frustration as his brain ground to a halt at this unexpected turn of events. Way to come across all fiery vengeance and indomitable will, Harry. Good show.

Still, Dumbledore, _apologising?_

He closed his eyes and mentally ran over the apology a few times before they snapped to Dumbledore's once more and narrowed in suspicion. "You're apologising for the interrogation, but not the actual kidnapping?"

The Headmaster smiled sadly. "We are very sorry that this happened to you and acknowledge it is not in any way fair, but could you honestly leave thousands to die and do nothing to prevent it, even if your only option was distasteful?"

"There are lines one does not cross, Headmaster," Harry said icily.

"Unfortunately where to draw them will forever remain a matter of debate," Dumbledore argued genially.

Harry swallowed the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue and reminded himself that he was Harry bloody Potter and not a teenage girl in a tiff. "I'm quite sure we will never agree, especially on this subject so lets move on," he said instead before trying to take control of the conversation. "Having acknowledged that your actions against me have been unfair in the extreme, how will you be compensating me?"

Dumbledore blinked. "Compensating?"

Harry stared down his nose at the man as if he was a particularly dim-witted child. "I arrived in this world without even the clothes on my back. I had literally no possessions whatsoever. Frankly, the fact that I need to bring up the subject of compensation because you have not offered it on your own initiative like a decent human being speaks very poorly of you."

"I had rather thought the offer of a job at one of the most prestigious schools of magic in the world was quite a generous offer," Dumbledore replied, frowning.

"Except that any pay I receive would be for the work I do, not as compensation for the things _you took from me,_" he said, raising his voice in frustration at the man's obstinacy. "On top of that, that job would start September first, which is two whole months from now. What am I supposed to do in the mean time? Walk around naked?"

Dumbledore gaped briefly before looking down in embarrassment. "I was unaware about that. Minerva-, that is Deputy Headmistress McGonagall typically handles the paperwork for me." He cleared his throat and looked piercingly at clothes he was wearing. "Besides, it hardly seems like attire would be a problem seeing as you've found a source of clothing for yourself."

"Do not think that resourcefulness on my part absolves you of responsibility, Headmaster," he said harshly. "I lack any kind of resources in this world and it is your Merlin-be-damned fault. Fix it!"

To his credit the man did appear to seriously consider the concept but it didn't take long before he was shaking his head. "The problem is that the Order has no funds and is strictly volunteer based. As Headmaster it is within my remit to offer you a job at Hogwarts, but I cannot use her coffers for something that has nothing to do with her students."

Harry snorted derisively. "Then your Order members can very well volunteer the compensation I am due. After all, they participated in the farce of a ritual that brought me here. It is only right they pay out of their own pocket."

Dumbledore winced. "I'm afraid none of the current members are particularly affluent-"

"Not my problem," Harry interrupted.

The pair stared each other down in silence before Dumbledore slowly nodded. "And in return you will help us oppose Voldemort and his Death Eaters to the best of your ability?"

Harry swiftly shook his head. "Not a chance in hell." He let his gaze roam over the assembled Order members, meeting their eyes before he pointed at Dumbledore and glared. "Let's make one thing clear. What you did was wrong. Not 'morally ambiguous'. Wrong. And I will not reward you for it. Not by fighting your Dark Lord for you; not even by pissing on you if you were on fire." He shook his head. "I am owed this compensation because you took me from my family and friends and left me dirt poor with nobody to turn to. I owe you nothing in return."

Eyes blazing Harry stared down every member of the Order, jaw set and exuding an aura of confidence and determination. Inside he wasn't quite so sure of himself, but he was not letting them walk all over him. He was Harry bloody Potter.

"And if we don't pay you? What will you do then, go snitching to the Aurors?" Moody's barked roughly with a disturbing one-eyed leer.

Harry scowled. "You know very well I already tried that. Mister and missus Auror over there intercepted that investigation nicely," he said, pointing out Aurors Shacklebolt and Vance. The former met his gaze head on but Vance looked down at the table.

"Exactly, boy!" Moody's exclaimed, emphasised with a stomp from his wooden leg. "You've got no ground to stand on."

However, Harry just smiled sweetly at him and continued as if Moody hadn't interrupted. "So I went over their heads to Madam Bones." That caused a few wide eyes and dismayed mutters. Harry grinned viciously. "The Head of the DMLE is quite upset with you. 'Reprehensible' was what she called you, I think."

Moody's good eye narrowed while the other revolved disturbingly. "But not criminal."

Harry lost his grin, but Moody grimaced in a scarred mockery of a smirk. "We did our research, boy. Nothing we did was actually illegal. You're making empty threats."

"Except that I am well within my rights to accuse you," he said, his voice dangerously soft as he remembered what Bones had warned him about. "I will go to court and name everyone here as a member of the Order of the Phoenix in a very public setting. That membership you've been so careful to hide? Death Eaters will know even before they call for recess. Even if I don't win the case, you still lose."

He was bluffing, of course, but they didn't need to know that. Judging by the tense silence it was working.

"I thought you said you weren't going to join You-Know-Who?" Tonks said hesitantly, her voice echoing in the empty hall.

Harry shrugged in feigned nonchalance. "I'm not, but if I were to look at it objectively his side has done nothing to me whereas you lot have all but destroyed my life after coming within a hairsbreadth of _killing my godson_." He turned away and took several deep breaths to calm his sudden rage as he remembered throwing Teddy across the room before firing a damn Banishing Charm after his body. It gnawed at him, not knowing if the little tyke was safe and he clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. Please let him not be hurt.

"Thank you for not going that route yet, at least," Dumbledore spoke, though he looked supremely disappointed. "You do realise that it is not just those present that would be at risk should you expose their identities, do you not? Most of these people have families, some of them with children. Voldemort would not hesitate to punish them for perceived infractions of their family members."

"Then it would be in your best interest not to anger me further and stop arguing about something that by rights you should have done anyway." Harry sneered at the lot of them as they glanced around uneasily. These people were willing to fight for what they believed in, but paying for some clothes for their kidnapping victim was a step too far? Good to know about their priorities, at least.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. "I'm sure we can scrounge up some funds to pay for a few items in the short term. The offer of a job as Professor of Divination really is quite generous, however, and the salary is substantial enough for you to get on your feet."

"And yet it does not sound quite that appealing when I would rather not spend time with you at all," Harry said bitingly, before once again stopping himself lest the conversation degenerate into a shouting match.

So far things were working. They had agreed to pay him at least a little for the damages they'd caused, which was more than he had before, but now he mustn't squander the ground he'd gained in a bout of immature anger.

He pushed away from the wall to plant his weight firmly on both feet and once more crossed his arms over his chest, lifting his chin slightly in defiance. "I am far more inclined to simply leave and make my own way in the world."

Dumbledore sighed. "Many people desire such, but sadly life often has different plans for us all."

Well, that sounded ominous.

The Headmaster interlaced his fingers and shot him a piercing look over his half-moon glasses as some of the ever-present joviality left them. The twinkling blue turned steely and the harmless-looking old man was suddenly replaced with a battle-hardened war-veteran.

"Let me be blunt, Mr. White, because you appear to appreciate candour. You were called here to do a job and magic herself will see to it that you complete it. As the Muggles say, the die has been cast. None of us understand the role you play exactly because we expected a more straightforward solution to our problems, but we do know that the role is yours. My apology was sincere – it is most unfair that it has fallen to you – but we nevertheless ask you to remain here and not drag this out longer than it needs to last."

Harry's eyebrows slowly climbed up to his hairline during that little speech and his fists were clenched tight enough for his nails to leave marks in his palms.

"And if I choose to leave?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"We ask that you do not," Dumbledore said evasively but Harry wasn't buying it.

"I don't for a moment believe you've suddenly turned into decent people that would stop at asking so you might as well lay all your cards on the table right now. Be blunt, as you promised."

The corner of Dumbledore's mouth curved upwards in a wry smirk as their eyes met. His held sadness and determination, the eyes of a man willing to do almost anything, no matter how deplorable.

Harry's gut clenched as he realised that the answer would be unpleasant at best.

"Were you to flee we would summon you back," Dumbledore said with sad finality. "We have your magical signature and a ritual that has locked on to it so we would simply execute it again, delivering you to us once more."

Harry shuddered and a bead of sweat carved a cold trail down his back. Merlin, being sucked in that thundercloud again?

"Please understand though that we do not want to do that," Dumbledore said softly. "Despite what you seem to think of us we are not bad or heartless people. We don't ask you to do anything difficult or distasteful. Simply take the job and spend time teaching children. It is most rewarding and pays well, while offering you room and board. What else do you want?"

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he counted to a hundred in his mind. He had already resigned himself to teach Divination, though he had imagined the old man would threaten him with legal repercussions instead of bodily dragging him back and making him do the job. Anger wouldn't help anything, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. Instead it was time to negotiate.

"What I want is not to be be involved with you at all," he said softly, mostly to himself, "but that does not appear to be an option, does it? So you had better be willing to make quite a few concessions for forcing me in this situation."

Harry scratched his chin with his index finger as he thought before nodding decisively. "First off is the compensation we talked about and it had better be generous."

"That is... not unreasonable," Dumbledore agreed slowly and Harry ploughed on.

"Secondly, I want any and all information, books, notes and thoughts you may have had on the ritual that brought me here."

Heads swiveled, looking from him to the Headmaster, like spectators at a tennis match.

"Again, not unreasonable," Dumbledore said, though much slower this time as he mulled over the repercussions.

"Thirdly..." Harry said before trailing off. What else did he want from these people? They weren't going to let him go, but at least they weren't forcing him into one-on-one combat with the Dark Lord either, which he wouldn't put beyond them. What else could they offer him?

Harry bit his lip as it came to him. "I want to be left alone," he said, eyes blazing. "No invitations to Order meetings, no trying to drag me into your little squabble with the Dark Lord, no prodding or hinting or maneuvering."

"And in return," Dumbledore asked after a thoughtful silence, "you will sign the teaching contract right now, cease your attempts to have us prosecuted-?"

"No." Harry shook his head violently. "I will postpone legal action until you deal with your Dark Lord, but I will not let that go. What you did was wrong and even now you don't really regret your actions and are instead using them to extort me. However, those innocent family members you were so worried about would remain safe in the mean time, which is a major concession on my part."

Dumbledore pursed his lips. "You know that nothing we did was illegal. Pursuing this serves no purpose."

"Then you shouldn't be worried," he retorted, not giving an inch. Really, he had already agreed as much with Madam Bones, so this was not really a victory for Dumbledore even if it appeared that way.

"Very well," the old man said reluctantly. "I cannot agree to leave you alone, however. It is both too vague a statement and would prevent us from making use of the information you possess on the war in your reality. That information could save lives."

Harry shook his head again. "I will not reward you for your actions, Headmaster. I refuse to have you feel vindicated by getting something out of me that you would not have otherwise."

"Now see here, boy!" Moody exclaimed angrily. "You're going to tell us what you know or so help me-"

"Alastor!" Dumbledore chided, but the ex-Auror would not hear of it.

"No, Albus. The lad is blackmailing us without giving us anything in return and I will not stand for it." He clambered to his feet and hobbled over to Harry, glaring. "You talk a whole lot while people are bleeding in the streets. Did you not hear Shack just now? Over a hundred Muggles dead. Any _decent human being_ would get off their arses and do something about it instead of whining about injustice like you're doing."

Harry sucked in a breath at the jab but glared right back at him. "Tell me, Moody, about the one that took your eye. Did you talk to him and go, 'It's my own damn fault for not dodging fast enough so I forgive you; constant vigilance!?'"

Moody's leathery face contorted in a hideously vicious grin. "No lad, I got even and shot a piercer in his skull." He poked Harry in the chest hard enough to unbalance him and force him to take a step to the side. "Difference is, while we fought nobody else got hurt."

Harry bristled and got right up in his face, trying not to get seasick from seeing the wildly revolving eye dart every which way. "Then you'd best give in so you can go back to fighting and protecting people instead of dragging my bloody carcass all across the universe."

"Gentlemen!" Dumbledore barked as he sprung to his feet and got in between the pair of them, putting a hand on each of their chests. "While some emotion is expected I would hope for a little decorum from grown men like yourselves." He looked over Moody's shoulder to the black-skinned Auror. "Kingsley?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt got up and with a firm hand on Moody's shoulder led the ex-Auror back to his seat, though he couldn't get the stubborn man to sit down. Harry remained where he was, breathing a little heavily and scowling at Dumbledore's hand still on his chest.

"I mean it, Headmaster. I will not reward you for what you did to me."

"And yet, through your inaction a lot of innocent lives may be lost," Dumbledore said sadly. "Is that not the greater injustice?"

Harry's head jerked around from Moody to look Dumbledore in the eye and he growled low in his throat. "Are you defending your actions as for the good of the many?" he asked incredulously.

He took himself loose from Dumbledore's grip and stepped backwards quickly until his back was once more against the cold stone wall.

"There was a book published a few months after you died, you know?" he said ominously, narrowing his eyes at the Headmaster and ignoring the multiple sharply indrawn breaths at that little revelation. "_The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ was quite the bestseller."

The Headmaster smiled faintly. "It does sound quite riveting."

The calm geniality infuriated Harry and as he heard the blood rushing in his ears he couldn't keep his tongue in check. "I've always wondered if it was true," he spat. "Tell me, after your father was sent to prison for torturing Muggles, were you or were you not lovers with Gellert bloody Grindelwald?"

A deep and heavy silence fell in the Great Hall as everyone looked at Harry incredulously before slowly turning towards the Headmaster when he did not immediately refute the accusation.

Dumbledore sighed and slumped a little. "I do not like remembering those days," he said softly. He looked up and met the eyes of every Order member unflinchingly, cutting a powerful figure of strength and defiance in the face of adversity. "Yes, my father was sent to prison after lashing out at the Muggles who had viciously beaten my sister, irreparably damaging her magic. And yes, as a young man just out of Hogwarts I fell in love with Gellert, which made it all the more painful when he fell to the Dark Arts and I was forced to fight him years later."

"You're gay!?" Tonks blurted before turning a mortified pink, her metamorphmagus talents colouring her in a unique full-body blush that included her hair, teeth and eyelashes.

Dumbledore's chuckled and his eyes twinkled merrily. "I am delighted that your faith in me is so strong that none of these events bother you beyond the surprise at my preferences."

There was a woosh of exhaled air as the tension slowly ebbed away, even if people were throwing the Headmaster looks of surprise and curiosity as if they were re-evaluating him. Dumbledore ignored them completely and instead turned to Harry as his expression lost some of its merriment.

"Inadvertently you have made our point, however," he said with a hint of steel in his voice. "You have knowledge. You know things that may prove invaluable to us."

Harry hesitated. Inwardly he was berating himself for shooting off his mouth with no reason but to vent. More importantly, he had already given Amelia Bones the useful intel he had regarding attacks and Death Eaters. In reality they were quibbling over an empty argument, beyond his resolve not to do anything that could remotely be construed to be a reward for their high-handed actions.

"That's it!" Moody exclaimed in frustration when it took too long. From fifteen feet away he pointed at Harry. "You seem to have forgotten something, sonny; something we found out after you tried barging into the Auror office like a bull in a china shop. You weren't born in this world and as a result you have all the rights of an Acromantula."

Moody's one good eye was cold and for a change the other was fully focussed on Harry as well making for quite an unbalanced stare that sent shivers down his spine.

"Do you know what is interesting about Acromantula?" he asked rhetorically. "Using the Imperius Curse on one is perfectly legal. We can simply make you tell us what we want to know."

Harry stilled as held Moody's eyes, barely noticing the cries of objection from some of the others present. The man looked completely serious and quite willing to do it if all else failed. Worse, Dumbledore was shaking his head in dismay but was not actually voicing his objection.

Adrenalin shot like fire through his veins and sound fell away as his vision tunneled until it was wholly focussed on Moody. Warily he looked for any kind of sudden movement that would precede the ex-Auror drawing his wand. His own fingers flexed close to the opening of his sleeve, inches away from his own wand and ready to cast spells at a moment's notice.

"While that may be legal it is a distasteful way to go about things," Dumbledore said, stepping in between the pair, his back to Harry, raising his hands as if placating Moody.

The voice sounded tinny and far off, even though he was only feet away. Moody didn't look like he'd heard him and his arm gave a minute twitch.

In two quick steps Harry was at Dumbledore's back and his left hand reached over the man's shoulder to grab the lower end of his beard. A quick loop around the neck followed by a harsh jerk provided enough leverage to painfully draw the man's head to the side even as he was being strangled. Harry drew his tall body close, positioning him as a human shield and made sure to keep his back to the wall.

Instinctively Dumbledore's hands reached for his throat and Harry took the opportunity to lift the Elder Wand from his sleeve and pointed it at Moody. Dumbledore tensed even further and jerked in his grip but Harry didn't let go.

As if a switch was flicked sound suddenly popped back into the world as everyone jumped to their feet and started yelling and threatening him

"Quiet!" he yelled harshly and everyone instantly fell silent, even as the Aurors moved sideways with their wands drawn to come at him from different angles.

"Your problem, Moody," he said in an ice cold tone, "is that if you treat me differently because we come from different worlds I have no problem doing the same in return. That makes you all violent Acromantula in my book and I have no problem cursing big-ass spiders."

"We promise not to treat you like anything less than a human being," Kingsley acceded immediately in his calm deep voice and Harry could feel the tension lower a little in response.

"Good, but I don't trust Moody to just give up like that," he said, eyeing the crazy man with the fake eye who was practically frothing at the mouth even as the tip of his wand glowed an angry red and was aimed rock-steady at his head.

"Dumbledore is turning blue," Tonks said worriedly from somewhere on his right.

"Oops." Harry slackened his grip on the beard a miniscule amount and the Headmaster immediately drew in a wheezy breath and stopped struggling quite as much.

"I bet you charmed your eye against summoning, right Moody?" he called out, thinking furiously.

"Bet your ass I did, punk! Now let him go before you need a new eye too."

Harry grinned. No matter how powerful or skilled Moody was, Harry was holding the Elder Wand. "_Accio Moody's eye!"_

With a sickening plop the white ball detached from its socket and Moody yelled out in pain and frustration as it zoomed across the intervening space right at Harry. With the unerring precision of a seeker used to pursuing small flying objects he took aim.

"_Confringo!"_

The eye exploded in mid-air into a cloud of miniscule white fragments. Mr Weasley, who was closest, was splattered with some kind of sky-blue potion the colour of its former iris and recoiled at the smell.

"That's for threatening me with the Imperius," Harry called out from behind Dumbledore. "I consider this finished now, will you keep the mad man in line, Kingsley?"

"I will," he promised gravely, looking a little tense at the sudden violence.

Harry nodded and let go of the Dumbledore's beard. The old man stepped away immediately and whirled, plucking the Elder Wand right out of Harry's hands. He overbalanced though and dropped to his knees, wheezing and coughing though he never lost his grip on the little stick.

Harry in turn was hit with three different body-binds and his stiff body toppled backwards from the impact, leaning at an angle against the wall.

Inwardly he was chortling in glee at the stunt he had just pulled and his heart beat enthusiastically in excitement at finally dishing out something of what this bunch of tossers were due.

"Let him up," Dumbledore croaked from somewhere out of sight and someone obediently fired off the counter-curse.

Without the charmed rigidity of his body Harry slumped and his shoulder blades scraped along the cold stone as he slid to the ground. He landed with a harsh thud and scrambled to get on all fours and on his feet as quickly as possible.

Order members surrounded him in a wide circle, all of them pointing their wands at him and looking thoroughly displeased. Dumbledore was sitting in his plushy arm-chair once more, being fussed over by Mrs. Weasley as he sipped slowly from an ornate golden goblet.

"This," Harry said slowly with an exaggerated arm-wave, "is one of the reasons I want to be left alone. We do not get along. Especially if some of you feel like you can curse me any time you damn well please."

"Nobody is cursing anyone," Dumbledore said a little hoarsely, followed by a minor bout of coughing. "Everybody here wants to help people."

Harry bit his lower lip in thought. They weren't going to just let him waltz out of here, maybe it was time for another of his barely-there concessions.

"I stand by what I said, I will not reward you for your actions, but maybe I could share what I know with Madam Bones. It is her job to protect people after all."

Dumbledore grimaced. "I would prefer that you deal with us directly but it is clear that neither of us are quite ready for that just yet. As long as you share any and all information with her that would be acceptable."

"Albus!" Moody objected harshly from somewhere out of sight, but the sound suddenly cut off as someone forcibly silenced the man.

"Are we done here then?" Harry asked, feeling a little weary now that the adrenalin was fading.

"As soon as you sign the contract," Dumbledore answered. "It would be in all our best interests to finish our remaining business for now, it seems."

Harry stared at him for a minute, but slowly approached the pile of parchments laying on the table by his side.

"You'll get me my compensation, all information on the ritual and everyone will leave me alone?" he checked.

"You'll agree to teach, postpone prosecution and share what you know with Amelia?" Dumbledore countered.

His mind whirling Harry considered his options and then slowly reached for the pile. This was probably the best he was going to get for now.

As he quickly read through the contract to check if it was the same as the one Dumbledore had sent him a week ago McGonagall made her voice heard for the first time.

"Albus," she protested primly, "we don't even know if he can teach."

Her grumbling protest sealed the deal for him as he realised that he'd claimed to be a Divination prodigy only because it would upset the woman. With a flourish he signed the contract _Harry White_ at the bottom.

"I promise not to show up to class drunk," he said with a jaunty salute at the woman as he sauntered towards the doors.

They were still closed and he tilted his head as he gestured between them and the Headmaster.

"If you would, _boss_," he said mockingly. Reluctantly Dumbledore shot a pair of spells at them.

No sooner had Harry set foot across the threshold than they slammed shut behind him, followed by the sounds of pandemonium erupting from within. A second later that too cut off as someone silenced the Great Hall.

With exaggerated cheerfulness Harry whistled a jaunty tune as he wandered down the hall, smacking his lips. His last comment to McGonagall had given him an idea and he set a course for the Entrance Hall and the wide world beyond.

After a day such as this, surely he deserved a drink.

* * *

**A/N:** Good god that scene just wouldn't end; it just kept growing and growing until I'm over 9000 words already without a reaching a good stopping point. Ah well, let's call it a present for my loyal readers. Just know that I will not make a habit of it. Over 5000 words is my rule of thumb, everything else is extra.

I have seen the threat "I will strangle him with his bloody beard" levied against Dumbledore quite a number of times, but never have I actually seen it happen. Nor is using the thing against him in a skirmish common. I suppose it is because the man is good at magical combat which happens at range. Get in close, however, and he's just an old man with too much facial hair. Also, Elder Wand stealing galore. Yay.

Finally we see a more capable Harry emerging, winning one of his battles, or at least not coming out worse than when he started. I will not promise to be so nice all the time, however, messing with him is far too much fun.

Recommended story: Magic Knows No Boundaries by celillia. It is where I first saw Harry as Divination teacher, though there it was much more... voluntary.

Until next week.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	6. Press 3 to rent a humanitarian hero

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 6 – Press 3. to rent a humanitarian hero**

Wheezing and coughing Harry cringed away from an irate Madam Rosmerta, owner of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. He was seated at the packed bar in the tavern, leaning as far back as he could while the black haired woman glared at him fiercely from the other side.

She ground her teeth and looked up as if beseeching help from on high. When nothing happened she took three quick strides to the sink to pick up a white rag with brown stripes and threw it at him. With a Seeker's accuracy Harry caught the thing before it hit him in the face. The sudden movement combined with his precarious seat caused him to overbalance and topple backwards off his chair to land on the floor with a thud.

A dull pain bloomed in his lower back even as his eyes watered and his throat burned. "Ow," he coughed piteously.

Rosie, as she'd asked to be called, leant over the bar on both arms and glared down at him. The two men on either side of the now empty stool hastily stood to find themselves somewhere else to sit and avoid the not-so-tender mercies of the livid barmaid.

"Did you know that the single most useful spell in all the History of Magic for a bartender is the Flame Freezing Charm?" she asked icily. "I have lost count of the number of idiots that have belched me in the face with flames after gulping down firewhiskey like they were dying of thirst, but that does. Not. Mean. I. Like it!" With each word she smacked her palm on the bar with a thwack.

Cheeks red from embarrassment Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to ignore how everyone in the place was staring at him, poorly hiding their laughter at his misfortune.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding both his hands up. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No," she said before huffing, crossing her arms and turning away, snubbing him like a teenager.

Eying her like she was a predator waiting to pounce Harry cautiously sat down on his stool again, moving slowly and taking great care not to wave the rag he was still holding around before he put it on the bar and tried to clean up some of the mess he made. When he was done he curled both hands around his half-full tumbler and stared at the amber liquid that had caused this mess in the first place in an effort to ignore the still chuckling patrons.

Why had some idiot thought belching flames was funny, anyway?

The corner of his mouth curled upwards and he lowered his head further, not wanting Rosie to see him smile and start throwing bottles. Oh right, because it was hilarious, even if it was embarrassing.

Behind him the door swung open and Harry looked over his shoulder, a little wary that Order members might come here after their little meeting that he had left less than an hour ago. He needn't have worried.

The woman that entered was a little over twenty and stormed into the tavern like a hurricane. Dressed in denim shorts and a bright purple top that didn't reach down further than her midriff she was showing an incredible amount of skin and attracted the eye of almost every man in the room. Her long brown hair brushed over her shoulders as she turned her head slowly to take in the place with a single, confident glance before she made a beeline for the bar. She stumbled slightly as she reached the empty stool next to Harry and had to grab the bar with both hands not to land on the floor.

"Firewhiskey," she growled, before her butt even hit the cushion. Rosie poured her two fingers in a tumbler, same as his and she tossed it back in one smooth movement. She kept her head tilted back even as she lowered the glass and bellowed fire to the sky like an angry dragon.

Harry couldn't help but stare.

"Another," she said, her voice a little husky, and Harry swallowed even as Rosie poured another glass.

The second disappeared just as quickly and as Rosie poured her third glass in about a minute she shot Harry a scathing look as if to tell him that that is how it's done.

The woman noticed and followed her gaze. Vivid blue eyes raked up and down over his body like a peace of meat before she scowled as if he had personally offended her and turned back to the bartender.

"What'd he do to you?"

Rosie rolled her eyes. "Belched fire in my face. Don't worry," she added hastily when the woman's eyes narrowed. "I've long since accepted that some idiots can't hold their liquor and was prepared."

"I said I was sorry," Harry muttered, cheeks flaming and he looked down in embarrassment. Merlin, he was never going to live that down.

"Men are scum!" the woman next to him growled like a wounded tiger.

Rosie looked a little taken aback at that and Harry glanced at the newcomer from the corner of his eye, unsure if he was supposed to be defending his gender, apologise on behalf of it or get the hell away as fast as his legs could carry him.

She was curled around her drink like he'd been, except for an aura of anger and hurt that rolled off her in waves. The muscles in her forearms stood out as she clenched her hands around the glass. She had hooked both feet around the legs of her stool and was similarly tensing as if the thing might buck at any moment to throw her off and staying in her seat was taking a great deal of effort.

"Oh deary, I'm sorry." Rosmerta put the bottle on the bar close by and leaned forward on both arms until the woman met her eyes. "What's your name?"

She scowled as she drained the last of her glass. "Amanda."

"Tell me about it, Amanda."

For a moment she bristled as if preparing for a rant, but instead something seemed to break in her and she wilted and buried her head in her arms. "I thought he was this really great guy, you know." The sound came out muffled. "That we'd grow old together, love each other, have adorable little babies..."

"What happened?"

"He changed," she said, sounding heartbroken. "He... He said..."

Hands trembling, she downed the last of her glass, only for an unfortunate hiccuping sob to overcome her at the same time.

Harry winced as he watched the flames shoot out of her nose.

Not daring to breathe he braced himself as he awaited the inevitable explosion that was sure to follow...

"Ow," Amanda said petulantly, sounding a great deal like a disgruntled toddler.

The sound was so reminiscent of little Teddy stumbling as he tried to walk and landing on his diaper-clad butt instead, looking utterly confused at how that could possibly have happened that Harry couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

Amanda jerked her head around and scowled at him.

Immediately Harry straightened his face into an expression appropriate for a funeral and solemnly nodded.

She narrowed her eyes.

He didn't dare look away.

"Men are scum!" she said in a challenging tone.

"Um," he said helplessly. He glanced at Rosie, but she was hiding a smile behind her hand as well.

"You two would make a wonderful couple," she said, eyes twinkling.

Amanda whirled back to her, looking utterly betrayed. "I thought you were on my side!"

Rosie shrugged sympathetically. "If I've learned anything in all my years of serving drinks, it's that there's nothing to do about a broken heart but to accept it and move on, deary. The best revenge is living well."

Amanda stared, open-mouthed before she drew it closed with a snap of teeth. She growled low in her throat and pointed at the bartender and then at her empty glass. "Pour me another and then go give bad advice to some other poor sod."

Rosie smiled indulgently, but did as ordered.

"Try not to burn down my pub," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.

Amanda growled and swirled the drink in her glass. Harry stared straight ahead, trying desperately not to make eye contact. Harry Potter he may be, but hormonal women on a rampage frightened him like nothing else.

"Well?" Amanda barked, startling him. "Tell me about yourself!"

Slowly he turned his head and looked at her in confusion even as he warily leant away a little.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not every day you get a chance to chat up a bird like me, you know."

Her eyes found his and she captured his gaze, like a predator cornering a rabbit. They pinned him in place and she smiled sultrily. A hand came up and ran slowly through her brown, shiny locks. Drawn to the movement Harry watched her faux-casually twirl a stray strand around her index finger, slowly pushing it back behind her ear. The finger followed after, softly caressing her temple, ear and jaw.

Harry's vision narrowed until there existed nothing but that finger. Lower it went, slowly, seductively sliding over her neck to her collarbone until her whole hand rested on her breast and slid lower, alongside her body, past her bared stomach until it finally came to a stop on her knee.

Suddenly sound rushed back into the world and Harry jerked away as if slapped, blushing furiously as he realised he had been staring – no, leering really.

Amanda chuckled victoriously. "Well, that makes me feel better about myself, at least."

Harry cleared his throat and determinedly stared at his glass and nothing else. His face was so hot he would think all the blood in his body was headed to his cheeks except that certain other bodily functions were responding as well. Awkwardly he shuffled in his seat.

"I don't know why you're complaining about men when women are much more evil," he muttered.

"What was that?" she asked sharply.

Strangely he was much more comfortable with intimidation than embarrassment and her sudden mood change helped him regain his composure a little. She was playing with him, he realised. Playing and winning resoundingly. That would never do.

He took a deep breath and looked up, meeting her eyes. They were a vibrant blue, stormy with anger and looking at him piercingly. "You're right, it's not every day someone like me gets to talk to someone like you." Damn his blush. "I think you would be much prettier if you were not frighteningly angry, though."

"Oh." She blinked and mulled that over. Suddenly she deflated like a pierced balloon as her anger left her. Both of them were quiet as they sipped their drinks.

"I'm normally a lot more fun, you know," she said suddenly.

"I'm not sure I could handle that," Harry retorted absently. When it dawned on him what he'd just said his cheeks lit up tomato red for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. What was with him?

She snorted in her drink – this time without the flames – but otherwise made no comment. Harry was grateful.

Again they fell silent, though this time it was a little more comfortable as they both lost themselves in their own thoughts.

"I just feel so betrayed," she whispered, heartbroken.

His heart skipped a beat in shared sympathy as she voiced how he had been feeling ever since he opened the door to the Great Hall for the first time and saw familiar faces staring back at him without recognition. He closed his eyes. "Lot of that going around these days."

When he opened his eyes again she was staring at him, but this time she looked sad instead of angry. "You too, huh?"

Harry nodded with a grimace and to his surprise she held out her hand for him to shake. Cautiously he took it.

"I'm Amanda."

"Harry," he said, flushing at not having introduced himself before.

"Short, simple, strong. I like it," she said, smiling, before it gained a wicked edge. "You know, you blushing like a virgin is quite adorable."

Predictably even more blood rushed to his cheeks and she threw her head back as she cackled in glee. Even as she mocked him he couldn't help but stare at her. Her face was very expressive and when she laughed it lit up in its entirety. In fact, without the scowl she had been wearing before she was gorgeous. Her cheeks were rosy, proof that the alcohol was getting to her at least a little and Harry found himself wanting to replace that with a blush of his own doing, tease her back even if he had no idea how.

"Tell me about yourself," she repeated her earlier words, though this time she sounded genuinely interested instead of angry and commanding.

"Well, I'm 18-" he started, only for her eyebrows to shoot up.

"Really? I'd thought you were older with all the..." She gestured vaguely at his face.

For a moment he didn't understand what she was getting at, but then his heart sank as he remembered the scars. "For a moment I'd actually forgotten about them," he said bitterly. "They're a recent addition."

She winced. "My fault for bringing them up. Sorry."

Harry was surprised by the lack of condemnation in her voice. "They don't bother you?" he asked, wary and surprised.

"Looks have never bothered me," she said, airily waving her hand. "Between glamours, potions and transfiguration you could be a ninety year old hag for all I know. Showing them openly is surprisingly honest, actually." She gave him the evil eye. "You're not a ninety year old hag, are you?"

"I'm not a ninety year old hag," he dutifully assured her, still a little thrown by her instant acceptance. "Not many people are quite as tolerant. I know I'm bothered by the scars."

"Like I said, I don't care about looks," she said before adding darkly, "except when someone uses me for mine."

It was Harry's turn to wince. The choice of words alone was telling, but combined with how stunning she was it painted a rather ugly picture.

"The boyfriend?" he guessed hesitantly.

Amanda scowled menacingly down at the bar. "He agreed to _lend_ me to someone else. Needless to say that ship has sailed and sunk and is currently infested with grindylows." She shuddered and forced herself upright. "I really don't want to talk about him."

"Right," Harry nodded before his mouth dried as he had no idea what to say now. "Um, so I'm really 18. Far be it from me to ask a lady her age-"

"But luckily for you I'm not a lady. I'm 23." She smiled wickedly. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Despite the sheer cheesiness Harry couldn't help himself and blushed faintly again. "Seriously?" he sputtered. "That's the line you're going with?"

She nodded innocently, eyes wide like a child hoping to be showered with sugary treats for doing something really, really good. "I could use another, but..." She leant in close and whispered breathily in his ear, "After you made me so hot I breathed fire I didn't think I needed an ice breaker."

A warm, wet touch tickled his ear, and Harry shuddered involuntarily. Then he realised that she had actually _licked his ear_ and he squeaked and jumped and would have fallen off his stool if it hadn't been for his dead-grip on the bar.

Amanda grinned at him with a smile from ear to ear, showing off pearly-white teeth.

"Oh Merlin, kill me now," he groaned and smacked his forehead on the polished wood before covering himself with his arms.

"Oh come now," she said cheerfully, lightly running her hand over his shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "Surely you're not giving up that easily?"

His blush was strong enough to make him feel light-headed, but the challenge was strangely exciting and he really didn't want to let her win.

Harry took a deep breath and then sat up to purposefully leer at her. He ran his eyes over her bare legs and stared long and hard at where they disappeared in her denim shorts.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you win that easily. You're not wearing enough pants to be in charge of this relationship."

Tempted as he was to mimic her by running his hand across that bare expanse of skin or alternately swat her on the bottom he wasn't quite bold enough and settled for meeting her eyes. Her skin was slightly flushed as well, but her smile was shining with approval.

"Nice comeback."

"Thank you," he murmured. "I've never really done this before."

"I can tell, but you're a quick study," she said happily. "A little unusual, though. Typically you'll want to imply that the other person would be better off wearing less clothes instead of longer pants."

Harry swallowed thickly but didn't back down. "So I should have offered to help you change instead?"

Her eyes widened slightly and then she laughed uproariously, pounding her fist on the bar as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Merlin, I needed that." She sighed happily. "Shall we call it a draw, then?"

Harry nodded instantly, knowing that she was being exceedingly generous as she could effortlessly flirt him under the table.

"I'll get you back though," she promised. "Still, you never answered my question. What brings you to the Three Broomsticks?"

Huh. Well, that was probably not supposed to be a loaded question, but there were a million ways to answer it. Harry went with the cheerful explanation. "I'm actually celebrating getting a new job."

"Really? Congratulations!" She lifted her glass in a toast. "Tell me about it."

Harry looked down, feeling sheepish. "You're looking at Hogwarts' new Professor of Divination."

"Really?" she said, eyes shining in mirth. "Good thing I agreed on the draw then, because I'm suddenly very afraid of how you would punish me when I misbehave, Professor."

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and Harry's face exploded in yet another blush.

"Rosie!" he squeaked loudly, causing the barmaid to seek them out. "I need another drink before she kills me."

"Just for you?" Amada purred suggestively.

Harry shuddered even as he eyed her warily. "If I buy you a drink, will you promise not to try and embarrass me to death?"

"To be clear, you're acknowledging that I won, right?"

"Yes, woman, you're the goddess of embarrassment, all men will fall or flee before you. Now please, please promise to behave."

She smiled widely. "Who am I to turn down a free drink. I accept your offer, kind sir."

"Oh thank Merlin," Harry mumbled as Rosie topped off both their glasses.

"Shall we find a booth?" Amanda offered.

They carried their glasses and walked slightly unsteadily – her a little more so than him – through the pub until they found an empty booth in the back corner. They settled down opposite each other and with the candlelight and the noise of other customers lessened Harry suddenly realised this was quite a romantic setting.

It was – dare he think it – an intimate one and he quickly took a sip and let the feeling of the burning liquid trickling down his throat distract him. She hadn't even needed to say anything, his thoughts now embarrassed him all on his own.

"So, where are you from?" Amanda asked.

Like he was drenched in ice-water his pleasurable thoughts screeched to a halt and Harry's eyes turned distant as he stared unseeing to the side. "Far, far away," he muttered.

"Well, that sounds ominous. Your accent's really good if you weren't born in Britain, though."

Harry shook his head. "Oh, no, I was born in Britain. Lived there all my life too."

She raised an eyebrow. "Wherever you're from can't be that far away then, can it?" she asked teasingly.

Harry sighed and took her in. Her eyes were lit up with genuine interest and aside from how flattering it was that a stunning slightly-but-not-too-much older woman was paying attention to him she was the first almost-friend he'd made in this world. The thought of lying to her made his skin crawl uncomfortably.

He was pretty sure she wasn't a Death Eater either; she was wearing far too little to be hiding a Dark Mark.

He took another sip of his drink to buy himself some time and mull it over, swirling the amber liquid in the glass before putting it down hard, causing some to almost slosh over the edge.

"To hell with it," he muttered. This could be a spectacularly bad idea, but he didn't want to build a new life here based on lies. "How good are you with weird shit?"

She blinked. "Um, pretty decent, I think. I've seen magic do some really funky things."

"Well, hold on to your seat because this one's going to take the cake." He took a deep breath. "I wasn't born in this world..."

He told her everything he told Amelia Bones. About the ritual, the scars, the interrogation and his desperate efforts to get a little control over his life in the week that followed. After he finished the pair of them were silent.

It surprised Harry how much it felt like a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. The opportunity to talk, not vent but talk to a friendly face was one he hadn't had in weeks and it made him feel miraculously lighter. Still, he was well aware of how badly this could backfire and his skin went a little clammy as he waited for her to respond.

Just to have something to do he sipped from his glass and held it in front of his face, watching Amanda from just over the rim. Her stormy blue eyes had turned ice cold during the story and right now the flush on her cheeks caused by the firewhiskey was the only warmth left in her face. Her jaw was clenched and her posture tense as if she was barely restraining herself from strangling someone. Harry watched her warily, just hoping that he wouldn't be her victim.

"That's horrible," Amanda whispered minutes later. "You've no family or friends here at all?"

Harry shook his head sadly. Well there was his counterpart, fifteen year old Iris Potter, but that felt too weird and he wasn't sure if she qualified as family. More importantly, he couldn't tell anyone that.

"I think I remember hearing about a White family, though. I don't know any of them, but I'm pretty sure they're still around."

Harry's sip went down the wrong hole and he coughed and sputtered. "No relation I'm afraid," he choked out.

Amanda pursed her lips and frowned. "Well that's disappointing." She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. "This is getting way too depressing. Tell me something good about your world."

At once the lines on his face relaxed and as he ran his fingers through his hair a soft smile lit his face.

"Teddy," he said with conviction, sitting back and staring unseeing in the distance as he thought of the tyke and his antics.

Both Amanda's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "Wow. I hadn't figured you swung that way. Are you at least attracted to women?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean, he's my godson," he sputtered. "I'm not gay."

"Nothing wrong if you are, you know," she said lightly, but her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. "Might have explained your inexperience at flirting with beautiful women like myself."

Cheeks red, Harry glared at her. She gestured idly, glass in hand.

"Tell me about him. Aren't you a little young to be a godfather?"

"He's eighteen months old and the most adorable little brat you've ever seen. I swear his middle name should have been mischief." Harry shook his head and sighed as a little of the happiness drained out of his face. "I was good friends with his parents and when they both died I tried to be the best godfather I could be. In a way I know I did something right. Teddy was there when the ritual called me away and it almost killed him but I managed to get him away at the last second." He sighed again. "At least he still has his grandmother."

He looked down at the table lost in thought but the sound of her swallowing made him look up. She looked stricken. "Still way too depressing," she squeaked out. "I don't really want to talk about dead people."

She shuddered and then eyed him solemnly as if about to impart some great pearl of wisdom. "You should never get depressed when drunk. It's a waste of good booze."

Despite himself Harry snorted and he gave her a small smile, grateful for lifting the mood. "How about we talk about something much prettier then. Tell me about you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh thank you, Professor White," she said demurely. "Has my detention finally come to an end?"

Harry shuddered, though he wasn't sure if it was out of fear or fancy.

"Minx," he said without any heat. "Buying you a drink bought me a respite from embarrassment. The least you can do is wait until it's finished."

"Very true," she acceded before promptly tossing her glass back and belching flames in the air. She smiled at him innocently. "All done."

Harry slumped in his seat and groaned. It was going to be a long night.

Rosie kept the drinks coming as they chatted and learned more about each other, though Harry tried to pace himself as he knew he didn't have quite that much gold to spend. The flirting turned outrageous until the blush never even left his cheeks, but on more than one occasion he got her to colour slightly as well and he counted those moments as major victories.

As the hour turned late though, she was more than slightly drunk when it became time to leave. Harry steadied her as she stumbled her way to the Floo and once there she held on to his jacket tightly to keep herself upright.

"You made tonight not suck," she slurred with a goofy grin. "It sucked, but then you made it not. So thank you."

With drunken strength she yanked him forward by his jacket and smashed his mouth to hers.

Warm, soft lips moved against his own and while the kiss was sloppy and wet it was not any less enjoyable. Harry leant into it and gripped her tightly around the waist, returning the kiss with vigour. In response she relaxed bonelessly in his arms until he was practically carrying her.

When they finally came up for air she rested her head on his chest before clumsily putting her weight back on her feet. "Ish nice," she mumbled before peering up at him through her eyelashes.

"Nobody home but me. Wanna come?" She tried to waggle her eyebrows but in her drunken state nodded her head in the same movement. She stopped and frowned. "Wasn't right."

Harry swallowed thickly. "That sounds fun," he croaked, blushing brightly but caring a little less than he used to after doing so all evening.

Still... she was obviously drunk, wouldn't that be taking advantage of her?

Not giving him time to think Amanda smiled widely and turned away from him to throw a little powder in the fire, causing the flames to crackle a merry green. In a whoosh she was sucked into the fireplace and the green flames turned red once more.

Open-mouthed Harry stared. There was no way he could possibly have caught the address she had slurred into the rushing fireplace with her back to him. Without an address there was no way for him to follow.

Maybe she would come back?

A few minutes of awkward anticipatory waiting later Harry slumped his shoulders. She wasn't coming back. Typical.

He was a little sad, but to be honest she had been way out of his league. Instead of moping he should look back on this as a fun evening. And who knows, maybe he would meet her again some day.

With a little bounce in his step he made his way to the door.

"Hey, Harry," Rosie called after him, making him pause. "Your friend didn't pay her tab before she left. That'll be three galleons and seventeen sickles, please."

* * *

The Daily Prophet eagerly reported scandal after scandal and fanned the flames as Magical Britain appeared to tear itself apart. Slowly munching on his breakfast, Harry eyed his copy with distaste.

**Dumbledore stalls Wizengamot over conscripting Potter**

His heart had skipped a beat when he first read that – he feared Dumbledore had reneged on their deal already – but the article turned out not to be about him at all. The Wizengamot had wanted to order Iris Potter to report to the Ministry for 'expert guidance in fulfilling the prophecy and saving us all'. Dumbledore had barely managed to stall and postpone the vote but it didn't look like many people agreed with him. Minister Fudge was pointing fingers, blaming Iris for the attack on the London bridges two days ago because 'the Chosen One is refusing to do her preordained duty.'

He slowly chewed on a crunchy bit of bacon that suddenly had lost all appeal and leafed through the pages looking for some good news. If there was any it was well hidden between editorials of self-proclaimed experts on prophecy who almost unanimously cried out for Iris Potter to save them and pleas to accede to You-Know-Who's demands because the outcome was inevitable anyway.

Tossing the thing over his shoulder in disgust he pushed away the rest of his breakfast.

To be honest, the issue of his gender-swapped self made him a little uncomfortable and as a result he had barely thought of the girl. When a front-page picture of her standing exhausted and lost amidst the debris in the Ministry atrium appeared between his plate of eggs and glass of pumpkin juice, however, he was forced to confront the issue.

Really, she was just an innocent girl three years younger than him who happened to look like his mum and had the same last name, nothing to worry about. She wasn't a Harry with breasts; she was someone totally different, like a little sister he had never spoken to. A little sister with a Dark Lord after her and all of Magical Britain quite willing to push her in front of them to bear the brunt of his psychopathy.

Suddenly he was outraged with her treatment and he steamed in his armchair.

He couldn't help himself. The idea of family to him was precious to the extreme and while he and Iris weren't related in the conventional sense she was still James and Lily Potter's daughter.

If events repeated like they had back home she was grieving her godfather right now, alone and miserable at Privet Drive Prison where the jailers were titled Aunt and Uncle. Even more so than he had been at the time she must be desperate for someone to talk to, for someone to treat her like a person, not a tool.

Iris Potter didn't need someone to fight her war for her – and like he'd sworn to the Order he wouldn't. She just needed a friend and that was not beyond his limitations.

He absently scratched at the scar on his chin as he sat back and looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. Interestingly, she was the sole person who he thought he could trust completely given time and he very much wanted someone like that. She was an innocent, having not been involved in his kidnapping at all and would probably understand his... displeasure with Dumbledore and his cult. Actually, he thought her reaction would be quite predictable. Hadn't he lived the same kind of life? He only had to think back how he would have responded at her age.

Decided, he sprang to his feet and clad himself in a light jacket in preparation for an outing to Gringotts for some Muggle money followed by a foray into the Muggle world.

He wasn't her friend – yet – but at least he could facilitate her talking to someone who was and earn some goodwill in the process.

* * *

Back at Hogwarts after a successful errand Harry slowly lowered himself down to the floor of his living room, clutching a thick parchment envelope.

A slight chink in his plans had revealed itself when he realised he couldn't just stop by Privet Drive and introduce himself. Knowing where their saviour lived would get the Order in a tiff like nothing else. Harry White was not supposed to know Iris Potter and his cover was flimsy enough as it was without the extra scrutiny.

No, the constant Order guards she was surrounded by made visiting impossible, so he had to send a letter. And yet they might intercept her owl post as well so he needed a non-standard method of delivery. He needed someone who knew where Iris lived and could get in and out without being seen.

Harry sat cross-legged and took a deep breath that he let out very slowly, trying to prepare himself for coming face to face with a dead friend. In a loud, firm voice he called, "Dobby!"

With a pop the oh-so familiar elf appeared three feet in front of him, toting six- no, seven of Hermione's ridiculous knitted hats that wobbled with every move he made. For an instant Harry only saw his own Dobby excitedly grinning up at him and his eyes watered as he remembered the elf's dying words.

The image was replaced, however, by the reality of a much more business-like expression on the elf's face even as he hopped from foot to foot in front of him.

"Master Harry calls for Dobby?"

"Yes Dobby." He swallowed to get his emotions back under control. "Please, have a seat."

The elf froze for a moment before doing as asked. He looked at Harry askance. "Is Master Harry friends with Miss Iris Potter?"

Harry smiled faintly. "No, Dobby, but that is who I wanted to speak with you about."

To his surprise Dobby actually glared at him. "Dobby may not be Miss Iris Potter's elf, but Dobby is a free elf and Dobby can keep secrets for whoever he likes."

Harry held up both hands. "Calm down, I wasn't going to ask you to betray her secrets."

Dobby huffed and crossed his arms. "Good."

"I was actually hoping you could deliver a letter from me to her," he said a little hesitantly, taken aback at the vehemence. _His_ Dobby had never scowled at him like that.

"Why is Master Harry not sending owl?"

"I'm worried it might be intercepted and I don't want anyone else to read it."

The elf nodded slowly. "Master Headmaster Dumblydore is sometimes sending letters like that with firebirdy."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Yes, well, I don't have a phoenix of my own to send letters with."

That was rewarded with an eye roll, which looked very impressive on such large, bulbous eyes. "Dobby was meaning Master Harry is giving the letter to Master Headmaster Dumblydore so that he can give it to firebirdy."

Harry fidgeted. "Ah, well, you see, I kind of don't want Dumbledore to know I'm writing to her?" he half said, half-asked.

Dobby stilled and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

Surprised and unnerved at the hostility, Harry was suddenly babbling. "Because I don't trust the Headmaster and we don't get along and if he knew I was writing to Iris he'd take even more interest in me and..." He trailed off. Merlin, this was not going at all how he had pictured it. Dobby had always been so happy to do anything asked of him. What happened?

"I just don't want him to know," he said, emphatically.

Dobby was silent for a long time before speaking slowly, "But surely Miss Iris Potter would be telling Master Headmaster Dumblydore who is writing to her and then he would still be knowing."

Harry smiled a sickly half-smile, now very unsure of this idea but unsure of how to get him out of this. "I was hoping you'd deliver the letters anonymously, at least until she agreed to keep the secret?"

The elf went rigid and any leftover kindness drained from his face. "Dobby will not be keeping secrets from Miss Iris Potter. Many people want to be hurting Miss Iris Potter and Dobby is not taking chances."

He stood and cocked his head before nodding decisively. "Dobby thinks he will be telling Miss Iris Potter what Master Harry be asking."

"No, no, no!" Harry frantically waved his hands for him to stop. "Wait! Please!"

To his utter relief the elf stopped in his tracks.

"Master Harry is saying please." Dobby sounded very confused.

"Yes. Please, forget I asked. I'll find another way. Just please don't tell anyone."

Harry was breathing heavily, scared out of his wits at how suddenly things had fallen apart. All he wanted was to reconnect with a dead friend and ask him to deliver a letter. How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

"Please," he said again, because that word seemed to have more of an impact on the elf than anything else. "Please, don't do anything rash."

Dobby remained where he was, not sitting down but not popping away either.

"If Master Harry is finding other way to send his letter Dobby is still having problem that it may not be beings safe. Dobby is not trusting Master Harry if Master Harry is not trusting Miss Iris Potter."

"But I do," he blurted out. "I trust Iris, but not the Headmaster. Unfortunately, she doesn't know me yet and is very wary of strangers. That means the first thing she will do is contact the Headmaster to tell him that a stranger wrote to her. Do you see my problem?"

The elf nodded. "Dobby does."

Harry's heart lifted.

"Dobby also does not care."

Fear clawed its way up his spine.

"Master Harry is playing dangerous game so unless Dobby is getting assu... assuranceses Dobby will be telling Miss Iris Potter."

"But I don't know what to tell you," Harry said in dismay. "I swear, I mean her no harm. I won't send her poisoned food or dangerous Dark artefacts or anything. I just want to write to her-"

"Master Harry swears?" Dobby interrupted, looking him very intently in the eyes as if searching for something.

Harry paused. "Yes..." he said slowly, unnerved and unsure what he was getting at.

"If Master Harry is swearing he not be harming Miss Iris Potter and he try to helping her always Dobby will not need to be telling Master Headmaster Dumblydore or Miss Iris Potter about Master Harry."

Harry let out a breath of relief. "I swear that I mean her no harm and I have her..." He trailed off as Dobby was shaking his head.

"Master Harry must be _swearing_ and bonding to his swear."

He gaped at the elf. "You want me to swear an unbreakable vow?"

Dobby enthusiastically nodded before frowning and shaking his head. "Vow is being wizard magic. Master Harry will be swearing elf-bond."

That sounded disturbingly serious. "And if I don't..."

"Dobby will be telling everything to Master Headmaster Dumblydore right away," the elf said resolutely.

Harry pondered the options presented to him by the blackmailing little elf.

"If an elf-bond is not unbreakable, what happens if you do?" he asked warily.

Dobby looked thunderous and Harry held up both hands. "Not that I intend to, I'm just curious."

The elf huffed. "Elf-bond will be taking punishment," he said, before grinning viciously, reminding Harry of his predilection towards maiming enemies and friends alike, regardless of whether he wanted to hurt or help them.

"What kind of punishment...?"

Instead of answering Dobby started pacing while listing ever more gruesome tortures under his breath as if he couldn't decide which was worse. Suddenly his eyes widened as if he had an epiphany and he turned to the human sitting on the floor in a snap.

"Punishment will be Master Harry being Dobby's wizard."

Harry blinked in surprise. "If I break the bond you become my elf?" That didn't sound too bad.

"No, no!" Dobby shook his head so hard his ears flapped and bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin. "Dobby will not be being Master Harry's elf. Master Harry will be being Dobby's wizard."

He gulped, eyes wide. "You would make me your slave?" he whispered, horrified.

The elf crossed his arms and nodded firmly. "Dobby can not be thinking of worse punishment for betraying Miss Iris Potter."

Harry was speechless.

Here he was, wanting to do nothing more than send a simple sodding letter and suddenly he was being blackmailed by a house-elf of all things into becoming its slave unless he... suborned himself to Iris Potter?

"What... exactly would you want me to swear?"

"No harming Miss Iris Potter and helping Miss Iris Potter if she needs."

He swallowed. "That last bit is really vague, I don't want to fall afoul of some badly worded vow."

Dobby shrugged. "Thoughts is more important than words." He grinned sneakily. "Dobby promised Miss Iris Potter not to save her life again. If Master Harry swears Dobby knows he will instead."

Harry stared open-mouthed at the Slytherin elf. "And if I don't you'll go to Dumbledore?"

Dobby nodded.

"Bloody hell. You realise that's blackmail."

"Dobby is not caring. Dobby is a good elf."

"Yes, bloody marvellous, you are," Harry muttered under his breath, trying to look at this like a Slytherin, himself. "And in return, you'll play post owl and keep secret that we- You'll keep my secrets?"

"Not all secrets," the elf immediately objected. "Dobby is only be keeping letter-writing secret."

"Nuh-uh." Harry emphatically shook his head. "I only asked you to deliver a letter, and you're asking me to become an ally of Iris Potter whether I want to or not. For something that big you'll swear to keep all my secrets." Something occurred to him and he hastily added, "Keep my secrets, don't draw attention to me and swear not to seek a way around the vow. You're obviously... creative in interpreting your orders."

The elf scowled at him. "Dobby is not liking this," he said mulishly

"Funny," Harry snarked. "Neither am I."

Dobby pondered, hopping from foot to foot as he thought before nodding hesitantly.

Harry closed his eyes. "For how long?"

"Always and always."

Harry immediately shook his head. "Hell no. I will not have this vow hanging over me for the rest of my life. One month. If need be we can always renew it for another month or you can tattle after it is over."

The elf frowned. "One year. Dobby is doing things for Master Harry no other can be doing. In return he must be helping Miss Iris Potter long time."

Were they... haggling?

"Two months," he tried, only to be cut off immediately by an ear-flapping head shake.

"Dobby is not going lower than one year or Dobby is going to Master Headmaster Dumblydore right now."

Desperately Harry stared at the elf, looking for any kind of kindness or leeway there, but his face was like stone and his eyes like diamond.

"Fine," he said, slumping. "Do you know how to do this or will we need a third party?"

"Dobby knows. All elves be knowing about bonds." He spat the word like it was a curse. "Master Harry be kneeling and gripping Dobby's arm."

With great reluctance Harry sat on his knees, resting his weight on his ankles and glared at the elf who was now at equal height. Dobby gleefully extended his right arm and Harry grabbed his stick-like wrist firmly even as Dobby gripped his own with his long spindly fingers. Like opposing Captains crushing hands before a Quidditch match both squeezed the other with bruising force while neither let on that it affected them in any way.

Dobby raised his free arm and snapped his fingers loudly. Like a tuning fork the vibration resonated all the way down his arm and up the other into Harry, who felt something rush through him, making his bones rattle. Magic filled him up to his hair, feeling heavy and waiting for some ominous event to come to pass.

Bands of blue-green light emerged from their fingers and encircled the other's wrists.

"This is elf-bond on Dobby elf's swear and Harry wizard's swear, punished by servitude until giving of clothes," Dobby intoned formally and the magical cords tightened, truly binding their arms together.

"Is Harry wizard agreed?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Yes. Is Dobby elf agreed?"

A firm nod was his answer. "Yes."

Dobby snapped his fingers again and the resonance filled both of them with magic until it was sucked into the cords that started vibrating as if eager to fullfill their function.

It rattled the bones in his arm and the rest of his body shook with it. Harry tensed when to his consternation it didn't let up.

"Master Harry is to be snapping fingers," the elf said through gritted teeth.

Harry immediately did so and the heavy feeling of magic disappeared as the cords around their arms flashed before they too dissipated. Looking closely at their joint arms Harry thought he could see an after image.

"It is done," Dobby said, sounding pleased, releasing him. "Dobby will go deliver the letter now."

With a pop he disappeared, leaving Harry alone on the floor staring at his arm, wondering if making a friend out of Iris Potter was worth the hassle of dealing with her blackmailing elf.

* * *

**A/N:** You have no idea how much I have been looking forward to this chapter.

Harry makes a friend. Being Harry Potter though, he can definitely not do that the conventional way. Do give me your honest thoughts on Amanda and if she should be solely responsible for me finally upping the rating from T to M. Innuendo is allowed, right?

Mostly though, I've been looking forward to Dobby's first appearance. Dobby helping Harry is one of the most common plot devices out there because there's so many possibilities. Often Harry bonds him as his elf, either as slave or friend for a variety of excuses, but never have I seen Dobby bond Harry as his wizard. Ooh, the possibilities. I'm salivating here.

In other news, I've run out of summoned-to-another-dimension fics to recommend. Instead I'll name a regular dimensional travel one that is one of my favorites and which I really hope will update again at some point: C'est La Vie by cywscross.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	7. Press 4 for our budget options

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 7 – Press 4. for our budget options**

Harry stared balefully at the signed employment contract on his desk. It had no eyes yet it stared back at him. Without a mouth he nevertheless heard it mocking him. He growled at it. It didn't look intimidated in the slightest.

Merlin spare him, had he gone insane?

He hadn't liked learning Divination. As a result he didn't know Divination. So, why in the name of Merlin and Morgana had he agreed to _teach_ Divination?

There was no way that would ever be a good idea.

After the mess with Dobby Harry had thought long and hard about his cover and realised that it was full of holes. The only thing keeping Harry White and Harry Potter separate was the fact that the Order thought he had been forced to tell the whole truth. He hadn't been caught in a lie so everything he'd fibbed and fudged while tied to the lie detector hadn't come under scrutiny yet.

Come September, his first class would tear holes in his claim that Divination was his best subject like a cannonball fired at a wet paper towel. With one lie exposed the figurative floodgates would open as the Order started wondering what else he had claimed that wasn't true. Bye, bye anonymity.

Once more he scowled at the contract before swiping it off his desk and heading to the one place in the castle known to give him answers.

* * *

"I need to keep my cover as Divination teacher," he muttered as he passed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching Trolls to dance for the third time. He wasn't quite sure how to ask the Room for answers, but figured that highlighted his need the best.

The Room of Requirement shaped itself into the size of a big office that looked strangely empty without any furniture, barring the empty desk and lone chair in the centre. The only other thing of note was a portrait of a good-looking golden-haired blue-eyed man in his thirties who smiled widely, showing off his sparkly white teeth.

As soon as he saw him Harry's brain ground to a halt.

"Hello there," the portrait said. "Do you know who I am?"

Harry stared numbly.

"I'll give you a hint. I am the five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!" The man in the portrait turned slightly, showing off his teeth from a different angle. "Bell still not ringing? Honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League? Order of Merlin, Third Class? Professor Emiritus of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

When no answer was forthcoming the bright smile wavered a little. "No? You really should get out more, you know. How can you not recognise Gilderoy Lockhart?"

The portrait struck a heroic pose, but Harry was already halfway out the door, slamming the door shut behind him.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh. Not in a million years. Why would the Room even-"

The words died in his throat as it occurred to him what he had asked. He wanted advice and the Room gave him a portrait. He wanted to know how to pretend to teach something he didn't know and the room gave him a fraud.

There were parallels between him and Gilderoy bloody Lockhart! If ever there was an ego-piercing thought it was that one.

His skin went clammy and his face paled even as his stomach threatened to upend itself in revulsion.

Was that what he had become? In second year he had hated Lockhart with every fibre of his being. Back then he could not have imagined something worse than being a cowardly fraud like him.

He laughed mirthlessly. Look at him now.

Oh, how far the mighty have fallen.

He squared his shoulders. Well, not any longer.

He whirled around and, wand out, yanked open the door that was still there. Into the Room he stormed, a blasting curse on his lips-

The portrait was different.

Instead of the blonde ponce it held a woman with thick round glasses clad in shawls in dark colours. Her hair was black, edged with silver but her face looked smooth and not a day over forty. Harry immediately recognised her as the portrait that had hung in his office before Tilly removed it, along with all the rest of Trelawney's old stuff he had threatened to destroy.

"You are Cassandra Trelawney," he stated and she nodded. "One of the most famous Seers in living memory."

Her smile turned vapid even as her eyes turned wide and she raised both hands to the sky. Slowly she tilted her head backwards as well but peered down her nose at his wand, which was still lit at the tip with a blasting curse.

"I have foreseen your coming," she cried dramatically, "knowing that you would present grave danger! I feared for my life but even I must obey the Fates. Thus, I did not prevent our meeting."

Harry rolled his eyes, but lowered his wand. "You're a portrait. You had little choice."

"Oh, but our choices weave the tapestry of fate even long after we have left the mortal coil," she cried.

"Well, at least I now know where Trelawney got her inspiration," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked loudly. "I'm sorry, though my Inner Eye is as strong as ever, the same can't be said for my hearing, I'm afraid."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Never mind." He turned to leave and waved at her over his shoulder. "Have fun predicting... well, whatever you do."

"No, wait! Please!" she cried from behind him and he half-turned, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but you had me moved from your chambers. Please don't leave me alone?"

Harry shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry too, but I don't want you to tell the Headmaster everything that I do there."

She turned red with indignation. "I would never!"

Harry blinked. "Don't you have to do what he says?"

She scoffed. "Have you ever met a portrait that did as it was told?" she asked disdainfully.

Harry immediately recalled the screaming hag in the parlour of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, also known as the portrait of Sirius's mother. They had tried everything and she just would not shut up.

Still... "Well, there's all those portraits in Dumbledore's office doing his bidding."

"They're friends," she enunciated slowly, as if he was an ignorant child. "The Headmaster asks and they do him favours if it pleases them."

"Oh," he said, stunned. "I didn't know that."

"So, will you bring me back? Please?"

Harry groaned. "I don't know. I'm not all that fond of having my death predicted dramatically all that often." To his surprise she blushed.

"And if I promise not to do that?" she said in a small voice.

He shot her an openly suspicious look. "Are you sure you can?"

She huffed. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of acting like a rational human being. It's just..." She hesitated. "Can you keep a secret?"

This time he lifted both eyebrows before he hesitantly nodded.

"I'm... not really like that. Everyone always wanted to talk to Cassandra Trelawney of the all-seeing eye, celebrated Seer, yadi-yadi-yadah. All the expectations got boring after a while so I developed this hazy persona to, you know, irritate the lot of them until they started treating me like a person."

He gave her a blank stare. "You, Cassandra Trelawney, the most famous-" He shook his head. "You're a fraud?"

She quickly shook her head "Oh no! My reputation was earned, I assure you. I really am a very good Seer and a Prophet and an expert Diviner among other things. I just act ditzy to shallow people I don't like."

"Oh." Harry hesitated. He really didn't want a portrait in his living room.

"How about if you want some privacy you just tell me and I go visit a few others so that you can spell the empty portrait after I leave? I'd hardly ever be in my frame if you didn't want me there."

He nodded slowly. "That I can do."

She clapped her hands happily. "Yay! Thank you, you are a god among men."

Shaking his head at her antics he nevertheless let out a small chuckle.

"Now," she said in a cheerful voice. "Where are we? I don't recall ever seeing this room before and I don't remember being moved."

"Room of Requirement. Becomes whatever the user needs."

She furrowed her brow. "And you needed... my portrait?"

"No, I..." He shut his mouth and frowned. Why had the room given him a portrait of Trelawney?

"Well come on, spit it out," she said eagerly. "You promised to keep my secret, so I'll promise to keep yours."

For some strange reason he trusted her. Besides, he would feel no remorse at utterly destroying a portrait if it was about to betray him, unlike if she were a real person. "I was offered the post of Divination teacher, but I don't actually know a lot about it and I just realised I don't want to lie to my students or be awful at the job."

She arched an eyebrow. "Never studied it yourself?"

"Well, I did, but..." He flushed and the rest of his words tumbled out of his mouth. "I never actually saw anything and mostly made up the homework."

Her lips pressed together in a thin line and suddenly she looked like McGonagall who would not be pleased at the resemblance. "Who was your teacher? Surely they would have noticed and put a stop to it?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Your many times great-granddaughter, Sybill. And as long as I predicted my death and it was gruesome my marks were quite high."

It was her turn to groan and look sheepish. "Oh no. Sybill was one of those people that idolised me and bought into my act. A modicum of talent, but not a lick of sense. How on earth did she even get the job?"

He snorted. "She gave a genuine prophecy during her job interview."

She giggled. "That's one way to do it." She coughed and tried to look stern. "So what are you going to do about it?"

He threw up his hands. "I don't know! I'm not a Seer, so what options do I have?"

She looked confused "Is being a Seer a requirement for the job? Because you're either born one or you're not, you know."

Harry stared at her. "Then what use is the class if it can't be taught!?"

"What do you mean? I thought we were talking about Divination. Of course it can be taught."

He looked bewildered and she looked confused before her expression slowly turned to one of horror.

"Tell me," she said very slowly, "what do you think a Seer is?"

"Um. Someone who gives prophecies and can see the future and stuff?"

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "I can see what you mean when you say you don't know much about the subject, because all of that was wrong." Clearing her throat, she adopted a lecturing pose.

"A Seer is someone born with some form of extrasensory perception like mage sight, the ability to literally see magic. It comes in many forms but usually has nothing to do with the future. Someone who gives prophecies is fittingly called a Prophet, which is an inborn and involuntary talent. Telling the future on command, however, using a crystal ball or tarot cards and the like is the area of Divining. That one can be taught."

She looked sadly at his surprise. "How can you not know this?"

"Er. Are you sure Sybill knew this? Because I promise you she did _not_ explain that in class."

Both were quiet for a while as she pondered the foolishness of her descendant and he considered if everything he knew about the subject was wrong.

"If Divining can be taught, how come I never made an accurate prediction?" Harry asked finally. "I mean, I stared for hours in a crystal ball, but I never had a vision."

"The answer to that question is typically belief. Did you believe you were going to make a prediction or had you already given it up as futile beforehand?"

"Um, is that important?"

She sighed before muttering, "Well, that answers that question." Rolling her eyes she shouted, "Yes!"

She continued in a more even tone. "All magic hinges on belief, a problem especially potent in Divination because the results are so open to interpretation. Many people doubt themselves, thereby shooting themselves in the foot."

"So Divination really works?" Harry said, not a little sceptical.

"Of course it does!" Cassandra said, affronted. "Why else do you think that it's been part of the Hogwarts curriculum for hundreds of years?"

Harry shrugged. "I know that Dumbledore wanted to abolish the course before your descendant gave a prophecy during her job interview. He's like a hundred and fifty years old and if he doesn't believe in Divination that means the course has been taught poorly for at least that long. Students taking it usually do so because it's an easy option."

"Then why are you worried about doing a bad job teaching?" she asked snidely. "It doesn't sound like expectations are that high."

Sitting down behind the desk Harry pondered that question seriously while Cassandra stared down at him. The thought of turning into Lockhart made him shudder.

"Because that's not who I want to be," he said finally. "I did not want to come to this world, but now that I'm here I have a chance for a fresh start." A chance to be just Harry, someone without an obnoxious nickname. "I don't want to waste that by being a fraud. I'm being forced into this position through no fault of my own, but now that I have the job I don't want to do it badly. It would be dishonest to the kids."

"Huh," she said with a hint of admiration, "sounds like you've really only got one option then. Buckle down and learn your craft."

"But it doesn't work for me," he said, frustrated. "I stared into a crystal ball for half an hour straight on a dare once. Nothing happened."

She frowned. "Show me."

"Um, I don't have a crystal-" A smooth polished crystal ball on a three-legged cast iron stand popped into existence on the corner of the desk. "Never mind."

With a deep sigh Harry dragged it to the centre of the desk and hunched over it, peering into its depths. Already he knew that this was a futile exercise.

"Excuse me," Cassandra interrupted from up on the wall. "You're a novice at this, right?" Harry shrugged and nodded. "Shouldn't you, you know, link up with it the easy way, then? Instead of throwing yourself in the deep end and going for crystal ball mastery on your first try?"

Harry blinked. "I have no idea what you mean."

She threw her hands up in the air. "Of course you don't," she grumbled. "You do know crystal balls are enchanted, right?"

"Um, maybe?" he ventured.

"Check!" she ordered, growling.

Harry bit his lower lip. "How?"

"How would I know!?" she exploded. "I'm a portrait! A shallow imprint of the personality of Cassandra Trelawney. I know a lot of general things that were important to shaping her character, but I'm not some fountain of knowledge on this subject. If portraits were like that all your classes would be taught by Merlin and the Founders." She scoffed. "I know the general procedure for using a crystal ball but not the specifics. Find a book! An old one, if what you say about the teaching standard in this school for the last few hundred years is true."

Harry stared at her as she ranted. He'd come to accept moving portraits as simple curiosities like any other Hogwarts student but never really wondered about their limitations. Still, that was not quite important right now and her advice did have merit.

Accompanied by the sound of groaning stone the wall on the left moved backwards to make way for what looked like an entire library wing. Two parallel paths between shelves filled to the brim with books led to a raised dais displaying three full bookcases like kings and queens on thrones overlooking the common people.

With quiet apprehension Harry meandered through the stacks, his fingers trailing over old and dusty spines. _How I Saw and Changed the World. __The Dream that Destroyed the Danish Druids._ Practically all of the tomes in the stacks were on historical events that this or that Seer – no, Diviner, he corrected himself – had foretold or claimed to influence. Divination appeared to have had an incredible impact on the History of Magic and yet he could not recall a single time Binns had mentioned one of them. Had he been that terrible a student that he'd missed the importance of Divination in two independent courses?

Fortunately the dais held books other than history. Instead it was a collection on various disciplines encompassed by Divination. Harry was taken aback at the breadth of material available that the Room of Requirement considered fitting in the field. There were books on things he'd never heard of and others that he had never expected to find in this particular selection. Scrying, Farsight, Mind Arts, the list went on and on.

Taking Cassandra's advice to heart he wondered about a book list as prescribed by his various predecessors in the position of Professor of Divination, hoping for something both eye-opening and understandable. His attention was promptly drawn to several sheaves of parchment on one of the shelves.

Leafing through them he discarded them one by one. Nope, Trelawney's predecessor had done much the same thing she did. So had the one before her and the one before that, incidentally another woman by the name of Trelawney. Several hundred years ago, however, the course had been radically different.

Harry searched the shelves until he found _Opening the Inner Eye: An introduction to Divination_, the volume assigned to third years in the early eighteenth century and returned to his desk to read it under Cassandra's approving stare.

"Hey!" he said half an hour later, pointing at the portrait accusingly. "You say that Seeing has nothing to do with the future, but it says here that you are famous for your ability See just that!"

"True," she said soothingly, "but I became famous because I am the only one for whom the talent worked like that. A Seer's talents are unique. Some people gain the ability to see heat, like snakes. Others can do something hard to explain, like hearing smells. It's really all extrasensory perception and my talent happened to be future related."

"Oh. Is that where the confusion first started, you think?"

She snorted. "I know I wasn't the one who started that nonsense; I was perfectly aware of the difference, thank you very much." She shot him a pointed look. "Weren't you doing something with that crystal ball you haven't touched in a while?"

He rolled his eyes but dutifully returned his attention to the book – which was surprisingly interesting, for a Divination tome anyway. He leafed ahead and sought out instructions for the crystal ball.

Harry found himself surprised within five minutes of reading as the book called for him to use his wand.

Never during his time as a student had he drawn his wand in Trelawney's classroom. According to his book it was essential for beginners. Adepts at the art could just pick any crystal ball and gaze away, but for those just starting out the thing needed preparation.

The revealing spell to check the state of its enchantment – recommended prior to every viewing session – was complicated, with a wand movement that took him ten seconds to complete after practising it over and over for fifteen minutes.

"_Paratus Aspiciet,_" he said with quiet confidence when he finally judged himself ready to try, a little surprised that he was having fun. Then again, his interest had always been more geared towards the practical.

The crystal ball lit up very faintly with hints of burnt orange bordering on bronze, while there was a definite disconnect with the stand, which didn't glow at all. It was a very large difference from the rainbow of colour the book described as ideal.

Cassandra snorted from her spot up on the wall. "Yeah, that one's not going to work. Don't you have a better one?"

"I don't think so," Harry said doubtfully. "I mean, nobody ever used their wand in that classroom. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I honestly doubt Sybill knew one end from the other. If she didn't check the damn things, who would have?"

"Well then you're going to be learning some more skills, Professor," she called down mockingly. "Congratulations, you get to enchant it all by yourself."

The process was indeed described in an appendix, but the book assumed that readers would have access to properly prepared crystal balls. Sighing, Harry rolled up his sleeves and shot a pair of _Finite Incantatem_'s at the ball and stand, removing any remnant of the old enchantment. Time to get to work.

It was quite an involved process and over the next couple of hours he made plenty of mistakes. Two hours into it he even blew the whole thing up, showering the room with crystal shards and melting the stand into a puddle of slag that burned itself in the desk. Fortunately the Room had no problem cleaning up the mess and providing him with a new one.

The results were encouraging though, when he could actually see something happening, as opposed to a typical lesson in Divination. His wand flashed with every spell he cast and the ball shimmered and gleamed whenever he cast a spell correctly. The stand displayed periodic bouts of rattling, like it was brimming with energy and eager to run off.

Yet another thing he hadn't known: a properly prepared crystal ball was matched to its stand. He remembered Dean juggling four of the things when Trelawney wasn't looking before haphazardly putting them back. No wonder he had never seen anything in the past if these kind of basic preparations weren't taught. With that kind of sink or swim attitude it was Snape's class all over again.

Three hours later he was done and he took a shaky breath, quite nervous about checking his first ever enchantment. "_Paratus Aspiciet_."

This time the ball was surrounded by a healthy glow that shifted through all the colours of the rainbow before they all blended together into a soft silver.

Harry giddily bounced in his seat and couldn't suppress a smile. It had worked. Those more adept would be able to tell by the colours if part of an enchantment was weaker than the others, but the rainbow and the silver glow were described as being sufficient for a beginner.

"Took you long enough!" Cassandra called down, neatly piercing his feeling of achievement. "I have foreseen that you will get hungry soon and will need to have lunch. Hurry up and start gazing already."

Harry gave her a flat look.

"What?" she said defensively. "Thirteen year olds can do what you just did, or they're supposed to after taking Divination. That you cannot is a shame and not in any way my fault."

"I suspect you were never the most patient of people," he said blandly.

She scoffed. "Instinctively knowing what was going to happen before it did? You betcha I'm not patient."

Harry rolled his eyes, but nevertheless picked up the book again, flipping the pages backwards until he once again reached the instructions for a successful viewing.

"Okay, Divining is real and I believe that I can do it," he muttered, trying to psyche himself up.

"Are you sure?" the portrait called down sarcastically and Harry instinctively retaliated with a Silencing Charm.

Ignoring Cassandra's apologetic expression he took out his wand and breathed in deeply. With a confident movement born from almost eight years of wand-wielding Harry tapped the crystal ball.

"_Iungo_," he said softly, before dragging the tip of his wand – now carrying a taut dull golden thread – from the ball to his forehead. There, he tapped it an inch above the bridge of his nose, the location of his third – or 'inner' – eye.

Suddenly he was _aware_ of something, some kind of presence that was half in his forehead and half in his mind, like a tiny amount of pressure between his ears that gave him an epiphany. The thread lit up until it was a bright gold before disappearing, though the awareness remained.

"Whoa," he breathed. That felt _weird_.

Laying his wand aside he focussed his eyes completely on the crystal ball and leaned forward until it filled his vision.

He stared.

After a few seconds he started feeling a little silly, but ruthlessly suppressed it and instead leaned even father forward, until he could almost cup the ball in his hands. With the lightest of touches both hands connected to the ball at the same time.

A rush of images crossed his vision in a second, much too quickly to recognise anything. It forced him to blink and when he opened his eyes he was just seeing a crystal ball again.

His mouth fell open.

"I saw something," he whispered, awed. Faintly, he realised he also had a bit of a headache.

Almost high on a heady feeling of achievement he slumped backwards in his seat. Just before his back hit the chair the golden thread connecting his forehead to the crystal ball reappeared, only to snap with a soft tinkling sound of broken glass. It immediately dissipated, as did much of the headache.

Cassandra was badly miming something up on the wall and he rolled his eyes as he cancelled the spell on her.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "What did you see?"

"No idea," Harry said, still a little awed. He shook his head slightly. "Should I try again?" he asked, already reaching with his wand for the crystal ball.

"No!" she barked out and Harry stilled in mid-motion. "Don't you know that you cannot repeat a vision?"

Harry shook his head.

"Oh. Well you can never repeat a vision," she said sagely.

"Why not?" he asked, regretting it instantly. "You know what, never mind. Can I watch it again in a pensieve?"

"That's one of the reasons why the things were invented, actually. Until you get up to scratch on the Mind Arts and acquire the mental focus necessary to hold a vision in place for any length of time you're going to be stuck using one."

Harry smiled widely. "Then it's good the Room can create one, isn't it?"

A grand sweeping gesture with his arm drew her attention to a marble pedestal holding a familiar pensieve that hadn't been there before.

"Be right back," he called before diving in head-first.

Just like all the other memories he had reviewed, this one was cloudy and about as clear as he could see without his glasses. It was good enough to be able to see what was going on, though and he watched with interest as his memory-self leant forward and grabbed the crystal ball with both hands.

"_Strigo_," he barked, casting the spell to pause the pensieve. Everything stilled and he walked up to his memory-self to peer over his shoulder.

All the blood left his face and his hands clenched into fists.

There, in the crystal ball – hazy but nevertheless distinguishable – was a wrinkled hand with blackened veins on a bed of white smoke. On the ring-finger sat a gaudy gold ring with a stone in which was carved a very familiar symbol: a circle inside a triangle, bisected by a line.

Shakily Harry exited the pensieve and stumbled for the chair.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked curiously. "What did you see? Was it-"

The Room understood his need for solitude and vanished the portrait from the wall mid-sentence leaving him alone to think in silence.

The ball showed him the ring horcrux and Dumbledore succumbing to its effects.

He'd known the event was coming of course. Back home Dumbledore's hand had been injured before the man had come to collect him from Privet Drive to bait Slughorn out of retirement. That would be any day now. The hand would blacken, followed by the arm as the curse ate away at the limb and within the year Dumbledore would die.

Part of him was vengefully eager to watch it happen but a small voice in the back of his mind remarked that his fresh start would be quite tainted by negligent homicide.

Suddenly three cords of blue-green magic burst into light around his right wrist like a set of bracelets in the exact same spot where Dobby had gripped him when they made the vow. The cords flashed once before disappearing again, leaving him with spots in his vision.

Harry stared. "You have got to be kidding me."

Wasn't he even going the be allowed a choice? He hadn't sworn anything about helping Dumbledore! Just because the man was the sole obstacle preventing the Wizengamot from kidnapping Iris and tossing her at the Dark Lord...

Oh.

Harry sprung to his feet and started pacing like a caged animal. "Blasted elf," he muttered. "Blackmailing little piece of shit."

What was he supposed to do, walk up to Dumbledore and warn him? That would go over well. "Hey, Headmaster? That Horcrux you're going after? Don't put it on; it has a Withering Curse on it. Bye now, have a good weekend." He could almost taste the Veritaserum that would follow.

No, he'd have to go and steal the stone himself before the Headmaster could get it-

He stopped in his tracks as he thought of the consequences. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he imagined the old man combing through the Gaunt shack in frustration, seeking but never finding one of the things he truly valued. After all, Dumbledore was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows. Wielder of the Elder Wand, he had spent a decade with the Cloak of Invisibility doing who knows what to it. That man _wanted_ the Resurrection Stone like nothing else and _knew_ where it was hidden.

And here Harry was in a position to deny him his greatest wish.

He peered suspiciously at his wrist but it stayed nicely skin-coloured, if a little pale from spending so much time indoors. The vow was not objecting.

His eyes gleamed and he grinned viciously. There was no time to lose.

* * *

Without much knowledge of how Dumbledore retrieved the ring the first time Harry really couldn't make any kind of plan. He didn't let that bother him overly much, though. After all, he was at his best when flying by the seat of his pants.

Instead, he Apparated to the only place in Little Hangleton he knew: the graveyard.

If nothing else, materialising in a graveyard where you have once been bound to one of the tombstones, tortured and engaged in a duel to the death was a strong deterrent against recklessness. Maybe, he thought, he ought to exercise a little caution. Messing with Dumbledore meant a lot to him, but not at the cost of his life.

The depressing atmosphere that was the graveyard did not lift when he passed the gates and peered down the ill-repaired road. One side was an open field. It looked light and airy, the monotony broken by a few trees here and there. The other side was heavily wooded, though the leaves of every plant and tree looked dark and infected as if disease clung to every bit of life in the area.

Even from yards away Harry could smell the neglect and decay and he had little hope there wouldn't be vermin the size of horses hiding in the shadows.

"Wonderful," Harry muttered under his breath as he started walking, trying to see a hint of human habitation through the trees. "Well, as long as there aren't any inferi it will at least be better than the cave."

Thinking of inferi so close to a graveyard brought back memories of death. He'd seen a lot of it, but he had never felt it quite as deeply as during that awful time just after the war ended when life was filled with funerals and grieving. As he searched for a path leading off the main road to the Gaunt shack it was almost like he was back there again.

_Harry tiptoed through the kitchen of the Burrow, heading for the open door leading outside, meanwhile steadfastly ignoring Molly's quiet crying as she cooked. It was a regular theme; something she had been doing for a month now, ever since Fred died._

_Outside the sun was bright and the sky mostly blue with a few clouds to playfully highlight what a happy day it could have been. Bright rays of sunlight highlighted the figure of a sixteen year old girl with long red hair in a simple ponytail sitting with her back against a weeping willow looking out over the pond a feet away. The light sparkled in her eyes and on her cheeks because of the tears she was quietly shedding._

_Harry sat down opposite her with his back to the water. He so wanted to sit by her side and throw an arm around her shoulders to offer what little comfort he could but knew she would only shy away. She had ever since the battle at Hogwarts._

"_This can't go on," he said quietly, looking straight at her. She, in turn, was fully focused on her fingers as they idly ripped apart a blade of grass in her lap._

"_George has been almost catatonic for weeks. Molly has cried and cooked so much that I think I ate more salty food this month than ever before in my life. Horrible as that is, at least I understand. You, however? You won't even talk to me."_

_His little speech over he looked for any kind of response or recognition, but she didn't give him a sign she'd even heard. He deflated and looked down at the ground himself._

"_I... I don't know what I expected, really, when the war was over. I hoped you would be happy and we'd kiss and make up." His cheeks heated a little at the blunt phrasing, but honestly the prospect had lost a little of its lustre by now. "I feared you would have found someone else or be angry for me breaking up with you and you would never want to see me again. Instead, you're" - he gestured helplessly - "this, whatever it is. You need to talk to me and tell me what I did wrong."_

_At this her head shot up and she shot him a look so full of hurt, disappointment and betrayal that he flinched back._

_For a long while she silently stared, but Harry was so relieved he'd gotten any kind of response from her that he held himself back from making any kind of noise._

"_You died," she finally whispered so softly it was barely audible._

_His shoulders slumped. Many people had expressed their displeasure with him about that. "It was the only way. I told you, my scar was a horcrux-"_

"_Not that," she hissed, furious for the briefest of moments before her eyes watered and she once again looked at him, heartbroken. "You're Harry Potter! Harry Potter is not supposed to die."_

_Brown eyes flashed with betrayal and she bit out, "How could you!?"_

_His gut clenched as a horrible realisation pierced his brain like a shard of ice. "You're not even upset with me, are you? Your Hero let you down, instead."_

_She looked confused, and that's when he knew._

"_I'm sorry," he said as he stood up and wiped the dirt from his hands. "I don't think we should see each other any more."_

Even now, six months later it made him clench his jaw in anger.

All the time she had pursued him she had chased a dream, one of some storybook hero. A hero that would fight for her and her family. A hero that would get hurt, but always get better. A hero that was strong and invincible.

A hero... that wasn't him. His apparent death had driven it home and now that she finally understood that she felt betrayed like he had led her on. In the end she'd never really seen him as a person.

Harry had stayed out of her way from that moment. Come to think of it, he'd never even yelled at her. A betrayal like that deserved that much, at least some kind of punishment.

How would she ever learn if nobody taught her how wrong it was what she'd done, the shrew? Really, he should Apparate to the Burrow right now and give her a piece of his mind.

He should storm in and yank her outside by her hair and then beat her until she was within an inch of her life for-

Wait, what? Ginny – the bitch – was in another universe and this world's Ginny – bloody bint – had never even met him.

She deserved it, anyway. How dare she not meet him.

The confusion was enough for Harry to realise something was very wrong and sweating heavily he staggered backwards until he was once more on the main road. The compulsion wavered until he broke it with a mental jerk and a violent shake of his head.

Breathing heavily, Harry's quavering legs failed to hold him up and he scrambled backwards on his hands and heels until his back hit a tree on the other side of the road where he sat, wide eyed and chest heaving.

What the hell was that?

It must be a repelling ward, he realised distantly, although it was unlike any he had ever seen before. It was a typical Muggle-repelling trick to make unwanted visitors remember something important somewhere else, like leaving the stove on at home, but this...

With a sick feeling he realised Voldemort would find it funny. He'd want to keep people away, but why do something as mild as make them remember something important when you could torture them instead. Make someone beat their ex-girlfriend to death with their bare hands. If not for the fact that his was forever lost to him the trap would have ensnared him too.

Harry sat there, wide-eyed, breathing heavily like a race horse.

It appears he found the Gaunt shack.

Merlin, he was an idiot for thinking he could do this on his own. He'd been caught without his wand out even – not that it would have done him any good.

The Gaunt shack wasn't even visible from where he was sat; at least fifty yards of trees and plants were in between. On top of that, the repelling ward, nasty as it might have been was probably only the first line of defence so people wouldn't stumble upon the actual traps. A sudden series of people violently dying on the spot was hardly inconspicuous, after all.

He couldn't do this, he realised and his shoulders slumped as he deflated. He simply didn't have the skills required to get through the traps. Without someone like Hermione or Dumbledore by his side he would just be cannon fodder.

For fifteen minutes he sat there, shaken up and certain that he couldn't get any closer, yet unwilling to concede defeat and leave.

Only after he got sick of his own wallowing did he slap himself upside the head for his defeatist attitude. So what if he couldn't go in himself? He hadn't been able to approach the Goblet of Fire either, but that could simply have been circumvented by asking someone else to do it in his place.

The circumstances weren't exactly similar, but they were close enough that they applied. Still, asking someone to do that for him was inhumane...

He perked up and searched his memories for the right spell. Raising his wand he drew a sideways figure-eight before jabbing through the centre. "_Serpentsortia_."

This was his first time casting the snake summoning charm and the results were not quite as advertised. What landed with a thump on the ground in front of him was a cross between every breed of snake he had ever seen or heard of. A tiny head with bulbous eyes and overly large mismatched fangs was attached to a six-foot long body that was alternately thickly coiled with muscle or thin as his little finger and more appropriate for a snake a tenth its size. It looked disastrous to the point it was comical and reminded him most of an incorrectly inflated balloon animal.

The mutant snake twitched a few times before laying still, unmistakably dead.

"_Vipera __Evanesc__a_."

Harry suppressed a hysterical giggle. Here he was, not fifty yards away from a piece of Voldemort's very soul and he was repeating the events of Lockhart's disastrous attempt at a Duelling Club.

He shook his head to clear his mind and this time applied some mental focus. He recalled one of the few memorable snakes he had met, and the only one he had spent a length of time observing.

"_Serpentsortia_."

A nine feet long boa constrictor, a perfect replica of the one he had freed in the zoo when he was ten, raised its head and hissed as it tasted the air with its tongue.

Parseltongue flowed easily from his lips. "_A little over ten lengths __behind you__ is an abandoned human dwelling. __Hidden i__nside is a small metal ring bound to a pebble. Fetch it and bring it here_." He'd never consciously spoken complete sentences in the language before and it was odd how his mind automatically chose different words to translate human concepts.

The snake nodded and slithered away, unhindered by the ward. Harry sat back down against the tree and was prepared to settle in for a long wait but it came back a minute later at high speed.

"_Speaker, the others won't let me,"_ it hissed petulantly.

"_Others?"_ he wondered before he saw something move on the ground behind.

Five sleek forms slithered in pursuit of the boa constrictor. They were smaller and darker, though they had brightly coloured stripes in places that stood out like a lit candle in a dark room. Their tiny fangs were dripping with venom.

Harry stared at the strange snake chase.

"_Speaker?"_ the boa asked, sounding a little worried now.

Harry shook his head and cast the first spell that came to mind. "_Vipera __E__vanesca!"_

One of the little snakes vanished on the spot and he cast it four more times on the others before they could bite either his summoned friend or him. Merlin, never in a million years would he have guessed he'd get such mileage out of that one Duelling Club meeting.

"_What happened?_" he asked.

"_They would not let me close to the dwelling. __They s__aid I was an interloper __in their nest__and moved to attack me."_

Harry scratched his head. "_Do you think you can bring one out here to talk to me?"_

"_I will ask."_

While watching the boa disappear in the undergrowth again he realised that his impulsive decision to do something was quickly growing out of hand.

He shook his head. Really, why had he expected anything different.

To prevent even more difficulties when someone inevitably came by and saw him hissing to a snake he cast a few of the charms that had kept their tent hidden during the horcrux hunt. At least that would buy him a little time at this spot without anybody interfering.

A rustle of leaves alerted him to the reappearance of the large boa constrictor. The foot long snake slithering after it looked tiny in comparison. Its bright colouring made it stand out from its surroundings, however, and when it lifted the front of its body off the ground a webbed membrane like moth's wings detached itself from its sides.

He'd never heard of such a creature before; it looked rather impressive. Maybe it was magical?

A tiny forked tongue shot out of its mouth, tasting the air before it recoiled.

"_You are not Speaker!"_ it hissed accusingly as it reared up and flared its wings and its hissing turned louder, somehow. "_Nest-mates! Guard the treasure under our nest from the false Speaker! His flesh will feed us for many moons."_

"Oh, crap," Harry said as everywhere around him leaves rustled. "_Diffindo!"_

The cutting curse was aimed right at the irritating guard-creature but Harry's eyes widened as it bounced off and instead nicked a small tree branch that came tumbling down.

"_Reducto! Vipera Evanesca!"_

The Blasting Hex bounced off as well, but as soon as the last syllable of the snake vanishing charm left his lips the snake disappeared.

For one heartbeat Harry felt like pumping his fist in triumph, until hundreds of other snakes came pouring out of the woods, all headed in his direction.

"_Incendio!_" he snapped and bright gouts of flame left his wand, setting brush and branch alight. The incoming snakes hesitated, cringing away from the fire as they madly hissed insults in his direction.

"_Vipera Evanesca! Vipera Evanesca!"_ Harry started vanishing any and every snake in sight.

"_Speaker!"_ came an urgent cry from behind him. Over his shoulder Harry saw 'his' boa constrictor pointing upwards with its tail.

With wings fluttering so quickly they were practically invisible four more of the brightly coloured foul-mouthed reptiles came flying at him. Harry was so surprised he forgot to cast and had to duck as one buzzed over his head, ruffling his hair.

"_Vipera Evanesca! Vipera Evanesca!_ Hold still, you annoying little- _Vipera Evanesca!"_

They were amazingly agile in the air, making for very difficult targets. Fortunately they were hell bent on attacking him and therefore just predictable enough to dodge as they dove at him. Warding them off with gouts of flame he tried to keep a circle of safe ground around himself while the boa alerted him to any snakes that made it past.

The few other curses he tried all bounced off their scales no matter what snake he cast at so he stuck with the one spell he'd found that worked. If it weren't Snape who had inadvertently taught it to him he could have kissed the man. As it was they were going to have a long conversation later on why the guardians for Voldemort's soul piece were susceptible only to a charm he couldn't remember anyone but Snape ever using.

One by one he started picking off the snakes. His wand-arm grew tired from the repeated motions and his voice hoarse from the yelled incantations but he didn't dare let up.

A surprise attack by one of the flying critters that he just- couldn't- seem to- hit- forced him to jump aside and he stumbled to the ground. An opportunistic venomous little bugger tried to take advantage, but 'his' boa was there in a flash, crushing it in its coils. He scrambled to his feet and returned to casting

"_Vipera Evanesca!"_ he called for what felt like the thousandth time, a little breathless now. The viper he had aimed for vanished and his eyes roamed the area around him, looking for his next target.

"_Do you see any more?"_ he asked, not trusting his own senses and eyes darting everywhere.

"_No, Speaker. I can taste many snakes but I see none."_

Breathing heavily Harry sought out a large fallen branch and levitated it over. With quick, harsh movements he tapped it thrice and painstakingly transfigured it into a waist-high wooden wall. Three more branches and transfigurations later had him standing in a ten by ten foot square made by the things. He vanished every leaf and branch and blade of grass on the ground, not taking any chances.

Finally, when he looked around and could be certain that he was safe and that there were no more snakes nearby about to bite him he lowered his wand and promptly slumped to the ground.

"_Are you all right, Speaker?"_ the boa asked.

"I've been better," he muttered before he realised sarcasm didn't translate into Parseltongue. He quickly took an inventory of the bruises and scratches he'd collected. "_I am not hurt badly._"

"_That is good."_ It paused and stared at him. "_You have slain many snakes this day."_

Harry eyed it warily. "_Are you upset __about that__?"_

It hissed in agitation. "_They attacked a Speaker. This is wrong. Yet they did so on orders of a Speaker. That is right."_

Harry watched as the boa slithered to and fro on the ground along one of the walls, almost like it was pacing.

"_It is confusing,"_ it complained eventually.

Harry opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and stood instead. "_Why __not__ get me the ring and the pebble now?"_

It nodded as if glad to have something to distract it from its moral dilemma. "_Yes, __S__peaker."_

He watched it disappear in whatever remained of the undergrowth and absently put out a little fire that still smouldered before it could grow worse.

For the millionth time he wondered what the hell he had been thinking. Messing with Dumbledore while he reluctantly saved the man's life was a nice idea, but not at the expense of his own hide!

It took ten minutes for the boa to return and when it did it was without the Gaunt family ring.

"_I cannot reach the ring, Speaker,"_ it hissed unhappily.

"_Why not?"_

"_It is hidden under the nest."_

Harry frowned. _"Describe the nest."_

A long green tail pointed at one of his newly-erected walls. _"It is like this, only with wooden ground as well."_

"_The human dwelling is the nest?"_

"_Yes, Speaker."_

"_And the ring is under the... wooden ground?"_

"_Yes, Speaker. I can taste that it is there, but the wood is smooth and I cannot reach it."_

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. After nearly succumbing to evil wards that tried to make him kill his ex-girlfriend and fighting hundreds of very poisonous snakes the obstruction that stopped his every effort and stalled his success was a _floorboard_?

A litany of curses slipped from his lips and he only noticed he had slipped into Parseltongue when the boa started commenting on a few physical impossibilities.

"Fine," he snarled. Why had he ever thought he could do this? None of the horcruxes back home had been easy either. Clearly the Gryffindor approach wasn't working.

He'd had a little success playing Slytherin, though. What did that leave? He didn't couldn't lie out of his arse when there was no one to listen-

Harry stilled. Oh. The Slytherin creed as applied by a Gryffindor: when all else fails, bluff.

Quickly he found a somewhat round pebble and a piercing curse left a nice big even hole in it. The next ten minutes he poured his every effort into permanently transfiguring its shape so that it resembled the Gaunt ring. He couldn't transfigure it to gold, but a few colouring charms stopped that from being a problem.

The cold weight of the ring in his palm, every dint and scratch on its surface, the sensations were all forever etched into his mind, even if he had only held the thing for the briefest of moments. It had been a harrowing one, though and at the moment it helped him remember enough to create an exact replica.

Next, he pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment and conjured himself some ink and a quill and set to forging a replica of a very familiar note.

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that once you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._

Harry bit his lip. He had to warn Dumbledore, but didn't want to make his job easier by pointing him at Regulus Black. Perhaps signing it with the initials of a non-existent Death Eater would be best?

The face of a golden-haired ponce flashed across his vision and he smirked as he settled for Gilderoy Lockhart. The peacock liked claiming other people's achievements anyway.

_G.L._

_P.S. May you rot in hell for that last Withering Curse._

There, that should get Dumbledore's attention and hopefully distract him enough that he didn't realise the real Horcrux was still in the shack. And in the event that he did notice, well, he was now warned about the Withering Curse. More help than that the man really didn't deserve.

Harry folded the note into a square and then rolled it up until he could slide the ring around it.

"_Here,"_ he said as he held out his hand to the boa, who carefully took the thing between its teeth. "_Place that on the ground in the dwelling above where you can taste the other ring. After that, guard it."_

It tried to hiss something in response but failed with the ring and parchment in its mouth. Instead, it nodded and slithered off.

Now, for a final touch. Leaving the thing unguarded would be suspicious, after all.

Harry drew a deep breath and then started casting _Serpentsortia_ over and over again. Copies of many of the snakes he'd killed half an hour earlier started appearing, all eyeing him curiously.

"_Inside the human dwelling nearby is a ring. Help your nest-mate there guard it from any who try to take it."_

"_Yes, Speaker,"_ they all obediently replied and Harry watched them go before vanishing his defensive walls.

Two minutes later the area looked as if someone had built a bonfire that got a little out of hand but besides that no hint remained of anything extraordinary.

* * *

**A/N:** That's right. I made Divination an _actual_ _course_. It has been done before, but not very often and I look forward to exploring the possibilities.

Another long chapter. I think I just shouldn't make any promises about that. This one had a bit of everything, though: character growth, magical mechanics, skill development, a scene from the past, a little action and Harry messing with a Horcrux before Dumbledore gets to it which will of course have consequences to the plot.

Recommendation of the week: I'm Still Here by kathryn518. Another dimensional travel fic, even if Harry isn't summoned by the Order. It's currently active, even if the author is focussed on a HP x Star Wars crossover for the moment.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	8. Or stay on the line for Hero Maintenance

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 8 – Or stay on the line for Hero Maintenance**

"Miss Iris Potter, ma'am!"

A single long spindly finger delicately poked Iris in the shoulder, the only part of her body below her head not hidden by the blankets. She groaned, unwilling to leave the comforting depths of her deep slumber.

"Miss Iris Potter, ma'am!"

"Bleergh," she responded, opening her eyes a fraction and looking through her eye-lashes at what monster dared rouse her when she had finally gotten to sleep and had not yet been woken by nightmares.

Two overly large eyeballs stared at her inches from her face.

"Gah!" she cried out, scooting backwards until her back met the cold wall through her nightshirt.

"What the- Dobby?" she asked hesitantly, finally able to take in his entire face with the greater distance. "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby is sorry to wake you, Miss Iris Potter, ma'am, but Dobby had to wait until the nasty spying man was gone."

Her heart, already pumping rapidly from being scared awake skipped a beat. "Nasty spying man?" Was there a Death Eater nearby?

The elf shuddered. "His eye is elf's-sized and sees through pillowcases, Miss Iris Potter, ma'am. Very creepy."

She blinked. "You mean Moody?" Iris slowly let out a breath before shuddering herself. "Yeah, that thing has always creeped me out."

Dobby nodded rapidly in agreement. "Tonight he is wearing an eyepatch like a pirate but Dobby knows that it is there and can see right through so Dobby made sure he would not be seen."

Iris smiled faintly at the thought of Moody aboard a ship with his peg leg and an eyepatch, cursing and hexing everyone and threatening them with walking the plank for improper wand handling.

"He's missing a beard," she said with a yawn before stretching like a cat. She reached for her glasses on the nightstand, finally able to dispel the last vestiges of fear when she could see clearly.

"It's good to see you, little man," she said softly. "What brings you to the smarmiest suburb in Surrey?"

Dobby blushed like he always did at his nickname, ever since she had bestowed it upon him in second year. "Dobby is delivering a letter, Miss Iris Potter, ma'am." He fetched an envelope from somewhere in his pillowcase and held it out towards her.

"A letter?" she said curiously. "And enough with the Miss Iris Potter, ma'am, already. Don't you have anything less of a mouthful to call me?"

Great ears flapping, Dobby shook his head. "Miss Iris Potter, ma'am honours Dobby by calling him friend, even addressing him like..." - his voice lowered to an awed whisper - "like a wizard."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Is that why you blush every time I call you little man?" He blushed again and nodded. "Huh. Well feel free to think up a nickname for me as well." Her eyes narrowed and she wagged her finger at him threateningly. "Nothing little, though. I don't like being short."

Dobby got an expression of utmost concentration on his face before it suddenly lit up. "Big Miss Iris Potter, ma'am?"

Iris stared at him before yanking the envelope out of his grasp with a pained smile. "Why don't I read this while you think of something better. Much better."

She unsealed the envelope and upended it on her mattress, eyes widening when, aside from a letter, a stack of muggle bills fell out. Hesitantly she reached out to run her fingers over the familiar paper.

"Someone's being generous," she whispered as she grabbed the accompanying letter.

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_Allow me to begin by saying I am so sorry about your godfather. While Sirius was proud of the Gryffindor courage that allowed him to avoid the path his parents chose for him, don't forget that Hufflepuff would have suited him well: his loyalty to you was tremendous. Never doubt his love and that if he could have chosen his end, going out saving your life would be his wish. Honour his sacrifice by living well and laughing but do not mourn him, for he will mock you and call you names in the presence of your parents as they all watch over you beyond the veil._

_What would not please him, however, is the neglect of your guardians and your isolation by the Order. That the world at large seems to forget you are a person is a despicable thing and while the aid I can offer is limited, it is freely given. You deserve better than the treatment that you get._

_From what little I know of your situation you probably do not have enough to eat, so here is my first contribution: one hundred pounds of Muggle money. Accepting food or drink from strangers would be the height of foolishness considering the circumstances but this way you can at least go buy some for yourself. Please do. The fact that you need to at all is a mark of great shame on your caretakers._

_Secondly, you need someone to talk to. You can write to me at any time, but for all my secrets that probably won't help much at the moment. You need a friend. Therefore my second contribution is a telephone card, along with Miss Granger's listed number. Find a phone booth and call her. She is your friend and using such Muggle methods for contacting her are reasonably safe. Unburden yourself and let her, or any others help you. You deserve to be able to talk to your friends and perhaps you may consider that they too deserve to hear from you._

_Finally, I remind you of house-elves and their many strengths. Dobby is fiercely loyal to you and is probably willing to do anything you ask. Hopefully he agreed to deliver this letter and is currently waiting and hoping that you have a few jobs for him to do._

_I would ask that you keep this correspondence secret. Know that I hate the Chief Death Eater and his mortuary dining companions. I loathe the Ministry and the useless bureaucrats and rule-followers they employ. Finally, I despise Dumbledore, his fiery fowl club and his methods. I have no wish to be caught in any of their nets._

_The help I can give is small, but the offer is to you as a person, not to a tool of theirs._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Anonymous Samaritan_

_P.S. Any ideas on signing an anonymous letter without coming across as a pretentious twit?_

Iris let out a choking sob at the final offhand comment as a myriad of emotions overwhelmed her. The image of Sirius falling through the ominous stone archway at the Ministry flashed across her vision and tugged at the gaping hole in her heart that had been slowly mending ever since talking to Luna at her last day at Hogwarts. Somehow the blonde girl's words had really connected with her and she had chalked that up as yet another one of her oddities.

This though... This Anonymous 'Pretentious Twit' Samaritan's words cut right through the cloud of depression and the haze of grief that surrounded her thoughts. How did he know just what to say?

"Do you know who sent this, Dobby?" she asked after reading it a second time.

To her great surprise he scuffed his sock-clad heel on the wooden floor and looked incredibly uncomfortable. "Yes, Great Miss Iris Potter, ma'am," he said in a small voice, "but Dobby cannot be saying." His pleading eyes met hers. "Please don't ask, Great Miss Iris Potter, ma'am."

"All right," she said slowly, instantly suspicious. "Is it safe, though?"

Suddenly Dobby seemed to grow taller by a foot as he straightened and his ears perked up. A cheek-splitting grin grew wide enough to bare teeth. "Oh yes," he almost purred. "Dobby made sure."

"I... don't want to know, really." She eyed him hesitantly. "You're absolutely sure?"

Dobby nodded emphatically

"All right then." Her attention turned back to the letter and the offered aid therein. Already she was almost salivating at the prospect of enough food to actually fill her stomach, but she was _really_ looking forward to hearing a sympathetic voice.

A tear trickled down her cheek and she angrily rubbed it away. Being alone was so very hard sometimes...

"Are you sure I shouldn't tell the Headmaster, though, Dobby?" she asked one final time. She knew the world was bad out there and all sorts of crazies had all sorts of designs on her.

The elf opened his mouth, but suddenly squeaked as some kind of magical bracelet lit up blue-green along his right wrist for a second only to disappear just as quickly. Dobby _glared_ at the spot as if it held a tattoo proclaiming his love for the Malfoy family.

"Dobby doesn't think so," he said petulantly, crossing his arms and determinedly not looking at his wrist.

Iris swallowed. "I think maybe I should, just to check, you know. Not that I don't trust your judgement, but..." She trailed off, shrugging. "Dumbledore says he's coming over in a few days anyway."

Dobby nodded solemnly. "Great Miss Iris Potter, ma'am must do what she thinks best."

He seemed oddly pleased, though.

Yes, she decided, she would tell the Headmaster, but... She eyed the pile of goodies speculatively as her stomach growled. There was no reason to go hungry in the mean time, was there?

* * *

Three days later Iris sat at her rickety desk, nibbling on the back of a quill, staring at a trio of very different letters. The one on the left lay open on the envelope it arrived in, crease-free and pristine but for a few smudges and fingerprints that showed how often she had reread it. In contrast, the one on the right was tightly wadded into a ball with more than a few tears after venting some frustration by using it to play fetch with Hedwig. She didn't need to read it to know what it said, though.

"Dear Miss Potter," she grumbled. "I am much too busy giving false hope to other orphans so I cannot get you out of the hellhole I put you in like I promised. It's very possible that you'll be stuck there all summer, but either way, I'm not telling. Suck it up, Albus, middle name, second middle name, _third __sodding __middle name_, Dumbledore."

She shot another filthy glare at the balled up parchment. If he didn't keep his promises she damn well wasn't going to snitch on someone who was actually helpful either.

Hence the unfinished letter.

_Dear Anonymous 'Pretentious Twit' Samaritan,_

_Thank you. Seriously, thank you. I have no words for how good it felt to both eat and talk to a friend for the first time in what feels like forever._

_Merlin, I just wrote 'seriously' without choking up thinking of my godfather. A few days ago I couldn't do that. Again, thank you, this time for what you said about him. Somehow that was exactly what I needed to hear._

_How did you do that, anyway? Know what I needed to have and to hear? It's impressive, if not a little creepy._

_The secrecy kind of irritates me, though. Not being able to tell made Dobby unhappy and that's a really shitty thing to do. Thus, henceforth I dub thee Anonymous 'Pretentious Twit' Samaritan. It's your own fault for signing the letter like you did. I only give nicknames to people I like, though. Really, you should be flattered._

_Can you at least tell me why you feel about people like you do?_

Iris sighed. She had so many unanswered questions, which may have ended up making her a little catty at the end there. She didn't feel like changing it, though. It was honest and that was a surprisingly freeing thing when confronted with someone who hid everything about themselves.

Quickly she added a request to write back and signed her name to the bottom. Before she could change her mind she rolled the thing up and tied it shut with a bit of twine. Dobby would pop in at some point and deliver the missive with no-one the wiser. In the mean time she had a phone card and a date with Hermione to get to.

* * *

Snape, Harry decided, was not just a jackass; he was an incompetent jackass. Even though he had not yet met the man in this dimension the dungeon bat would come to regret inviting Harry to the staff table this year.

Harry practised his maniacal laugh. Oh yes.

Full of fire and determination Harry had committed himself to learning Divination and becoming the best teacher the course had seen in the past few hundred years. After speaking with the portrait of Cassandra Trelawney that seemed both a very favourable comparison and an achievable goal.

With the field as vast as it turned out to be Harry had to choose something to focus on. Since he was still a little biased against the woolly discipline of Divining despite his recent success in that area he had instead focussed on the Mind Arts, something that he felt he needed anyway.

Surprise number one: there existed more in that branch of magic than just Legilimency and Occlumency. Surprise number two: despite his suspicions to the contrary Snape's method of 'teaching' – barring the bastard's choice of memories to seek – was the most commonly accepted method and a valid one. Surprise number three: that it hadn't worked for Harry wasn't because he was dumber than a box of rocks, but rather because the beneficial effects of regular mind-torture were siphoned off in a completely different direction.

The book, _A Magical Mind,_ explained that the Mind Arts generally referred to training specific properties of the mind by flooding them with magic, resulting in all kinds of interesting effects such as the ability to read memories. Exposing a mind to Legilimency was like scratching at it. In response the body would divert magical energy to fix the damage and try to prevent it from happening again. Like exercising a muscle, regular training sessions would build upon each other until the effects of a Legilimency attack were diminished or even negated completely. This was known as basic Occlumency shield. At that stage magic allowed someone to manipulate it for higher levels of Mastery.

However, if someone had, say, a shard of soul constantly digging holes in his mind, all available magic was diverted to shoring up the damage. Snape's Occlumency training had done as much good as trying to fill a well with an eyedropper.

Which is why Harry was currently practising Augeomency, the ability to discipline and grow the mind by consciously deciding where the available magic would do the most good.

Harry sat cross-legged on his living room floor, eyes closed and deep in meditation. His wand was in his hand, levitating two marbles in a circle around him like a solar system. A sudden pop caused him to break his concentration and the marbles clattered to the floor.

"Master Harry has a letter," Dobby said, lobbing a rolled up parchment at his head. Quick as a cat Harry snatched it out of the air. The elf frowned in disappointment and disappeared with another pop.

Rolling his eyes at the insolent creature, Harry eagerly unrolled the missive and laughed out loud as he read Iris demeaning nickname for him. It wasn't flattering in the slightest and yet it made him feel warm inside that she was comfortable enough to not snitch to Dumbledore about the letter and even tease him.

As things stood, though, he felt no remorse for making Dobby feel bad in the slightest and he set out to write back immediately.

_Dear Iris,_

_Thank you in return for the nickname. I will try my best to feel flattered by it. At least I no longer feel the need to be formal with you. I'm curious though, do you have a nickname of your own?_

_I'm not sorry for hurting Dobby's feelings. He is like no elf I've ever met and that is not just because he wants to be free. Before he agreed to deliver my letter he blackmailed the shit out of me like a Slytherin. I knew he was cunning and yet his ruthlessness took me by surprise. The fact that I got him to keep my identity secret was the least he could do in return but judging by the way he threw your letter at my head just now he is nevertheless upset with me._

_To answer your question, most of what I know about you was learnt indirectly and augmented with a number of guesses. Sorry if that's vague. I do promise I'm not stalking you or anything else creepy._

_With regards to why I feel the way I feel... I dislike murder and mayhem, which should be enough as far as the Death Eaters go. As for the Ministry and the Order, I loathe manipulation, whether they try that badly or are very skilled at it. On top of all this, I have grievances with all three, though those are personal. I am willing to share them with you, but you would have to promise not to divulge my secrets to anyone, friend or foe._

_Beyond that, I'm not all-knowing, so if there's anything you need to improve your life in prison that I haven't thought of, let me know and I'll see what I can do._

_A.P.T.S._

"Dobby," he called as he used the same bit of twine that held shut Iris letter to tie off his own. The elf popped in behind his back and Harry turned to hold out the roll of parchment. "My reply for Iris."

Dobby narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "Dobby agreed to deliver _one_ letter," he said slowly. "Master Harry will need to swear more years of helping Miss Iris Potter for-"

A very familiar blue-green light flared around the elf's wrist for a second, stopping him in his tracks.

Slowly the corners of Harry's mouth curled upwards into a shark-like smile. "Annoying, isn't it?" he asked innocently.

The elf scrunched up his nose as if he'd smelled something foul.

"Here you are," Harry continued blithely, "perfectly happy doing something, when suddenly... poof" - he clapped his hands - "you're reminded you have to do something else."

Dobby glared at him and Harry dramatically shook his head. "If only you hadn't insisted on a vow. You would be free to do as you like-"

"Fine, fine," Dobby groused. "Dobby is sorry for trying to trick Master Harry."

Harry nodded decisively and the smile drained from his face. "Good. The vow was for all our correspondence, _as you well know_." He frowned in confusion. "Why are you even trying to get around this? Iris _wants_ me to write to her, so by delivering my letter you're doing her a favour."

Dobby perked up. "Dobby didn't realise." He snatched the roll of parchment out of Harry's hand. "Dobby will go do as Miss Iris Potter wishes."

With a pop he disappeared, leaving Harry staring, looking bemused.

Before he could return to his Augeomency, however, Cassandra Trelawney sidled into her portrait and coughed. "Sorry to interrupt your studies, but the Deputy Headmistress wants to talk to you. She has questions about your class."

* * *

"Professor White," McGonagall said, looking sour with her lips pursed like she was sucking on a prune, "as you may or may not know, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am in charge of the day to day running of this school."

Cautiously Harry nodded from his awkward perch on the hard-backed wooden seat on the other side of her desk. In a familiar position in her office, that look made him feel like he was twelve again, about to be expelled for flying a car into a tree. Annoyed, he blanked his face and made a conscious effort to straighten up, refusing to be intimidated.

"I was not in favour of your appointment," she said bluntly. "In fact, I was not in favour of appointing anyone as Professor of Divination. However, the Headmaster overruled me and I will abide by his decision."

She seemed to wait for some kind of response but continued when he didn't say anything. "In my role as Deputy Headmistress there are a number of issues we should address with regards to your" - she could not hide a small grimace - "class and teaching standards. First, however, it behooves me to ask if you have any questions as a new Professor?"

Harry frowned. Beyond worrying about failing and exposing himself he hadn't actually thought a lot about the job itself. "I'm sure more things will come up in time," he said slowly, "but the only thing that occurs to me right now is the location of my classroom. I am not teaching in my living room."

She blinked and made a note on a list in front of her. "That is not an unreasonable request. Did you have a preference for the classroom you would like to use?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really."

"Then I recommend the one at the base of the tower. I will have it cleaned shortly." She added another item to her list before arching an eyebrow at him. "Any other questions?"

Harry shook his head.

"Very well. Let us then move on to the issues I mentioned. Firstly, what kind of standards will you require from your students?"

Harry furrowed his brow. Standards? "Um, I want them dressed?" he said lamely.

She bristled. "This is a serious issue, Professor White, and you would do well not to make light of it. Are there no restrictions you wish to impose upon entrance to your class? Perhaps a proven Seer's ability?"

Ah. She was hoping to save her students from the evil of Divination by imposing extra rules. A reasonable request, had he not just learned that being a Seer had little to do with Divining.

"No, I don't think so," he said with a small smile, knowing it would infuriate her. "I see no need for restrictions of any kind."

"Of course you don't," she muttered, shaking her head in disappointment, even as she made a note of his decision. She schooled her face back in a businesslike expression. "Will you be continuing with your predecessors choice of reading material?"

Harry snorted. "I highly doubt that."

"Then which books will you be assigning instead?"

That stumped him. He needed way more time to study before he could choose a book to teach others from. "You don't need to know that right now, do you?"

"No, but the Hogwarts booklists are sent out on the first of August and most bookshops will need at least a week of advance notice to stock the required volumes."

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "Have you got any tips on choosing the right material?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits and he could almost see the cat in her hissing in fury. "No, I would not know how to rate a book on Divination."

Quickly Harry raised both hands in protest. "Not specifically for my subject! I meant tips in general."

She breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled slowly, losing a little of the tension. "Flourish and Blotts, the largest bookstore in Diagon Alley, is the first choice for many of our students. Anything they have on hand they should be able to acquire in significant quantities with a week's notice."

Through narrowed eyes she peered at him. "I'm sure you'll make a deserving choice for parents to spend their hard-earned money on."

* * *

Harry chose not to put it off and left for Diagon Alley the minute McGonagall's dismissed him. He didn't need to buy anything yet, he reasoned, he just had to see what they had in stock so that he could borrow the books from the Hogwarts library for free to evaluate them.

Standing in a little-visited corner in the back of Flourish and Blotts noting down the available titles on parchment with a ratty-looking quill, Harry drew a number of odd looks. It might be because of what he was doing, but judging by the fear some people displayed it might also be the scars that put them off.

"Harry?" a female voice cried, startling him and he turned.

Amanda, his gorgeous drinking buddy, was barrelling down on him between the stacks, coming to a stop just in time to place one hand on his chest for balance while she used the other to poke him savagely.

"You don't Floo, you don't write," she scolded. "What's a girl to think?"

"If you wanted me to write," he responded dryly, "you should have given me your last name."

Her mouth formed a small o. "I didn't give you my Floo address either, did I?" she mused. Harry shook his head and she threw him a startled look. "Is that why you didn't come over when I invited you in?"

"Uh, yeah." Embarrassed, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I waited for like five minutes but left when you didn't come back. I did pay your tab though."

She absently waved off his babbling, instead looking strangely disappointed.

"I, well..." She flushed. "It's been a long time since I've done that, you know, sleep with a guy on the first date. I thought you declining my offer was... gallant, in a way."

"Oh." He did not quite know how to feel about that. "If it's any consolation, I was worried that I might be taking advantage of you being drunk so I don't think anything would have happened."

She looked at him askance before fluttering her eyelashes.

"Are you sure?" she purred. "I can be very... persuasive."

His heartrate sped up and he had to swallow to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

"I do have morals!" he objected, trying to ignore how warm her hand felt on his chest.

"I'm glad," she said, smiling wickedly before kissing him on the cheek and breathily whispering, "Play your cards right and maybe I'll tell you my last name."

Her warm breath tickled his ear and Harry shivered as his cheeks grew hot.

Taking two steps back Amanda adopted a curious expression like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "So what are you doing here?"

Harry shook his head to clear it but couldn't get rid of the small smile on his face. "I'm checking for books to assign my new students," he explained.

"Hard at work, even in the summer. Admirable." She breathed in deeply and for a second Harry's eyes flitted to her chest before he focussed on her face again. "Why don't you finish up here and I'll go browse a little," she proposed, already turning to walk away. Looking over her shoulder, she called, "Just come find me when you're done."

A few minutes and a lot of hastily scribbled notes later he found her just as she was paying. The proprietor handed her a small bag and to his immense surprise she passed it on to him.

"Here, this is for you," she said. "A thank you for paying off my tab, even after I ditched you."

"You didn't have to," he murmured, but nevertheless reached in to pull out a small volume titled _Glamours for the Gifted_.

"I know that your scars bother you," she said softly. "With this book, if you want to, you can hide them for a while." Laying her hand over his she slowly forced his fingers closed around the cover. "Don't do it out of shame though, because that would be wrong as you have nothing to be ashamed of. I just wanted you to have the option."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Thank you. That is very thoughtful."

She smiled softly and nodded once before her smile turned impish and she twirled around playfully. "It's also a book written specifically for witches," she called out loudly over her shoulder. "Most of the people buying it are teenage girls worried about their looks. If anybody ever catches you with one of those glamours they'll think you're hiding a zit."

Cackling loudly she fled out of the store, hair flying and Harry chased after her, apologising to everyone he inadvertently ran into.

"Minx," he growled when he caught up but she just smiled widely and ignored him. "What brings you to Diagon Alley, anyway? Is there something you need?"

She shrugged casually. "Not really, I was just window shopping."

Together they perused a few curio shops and laughed at bad fashion choices before she lightly touched his arm. "I'm a little hungry and I know this great place. Can you Apparate?" she asked curiously.

Harry grimaced. "Not legally."

"We could- What?" she asked, nonplussed.

Harry shrugged. "Not a British citizen, remember. I have no papers so I can't apply for a licence. That's not to say I can't, I'm just leery of committing any kind of crime."

She scowled and opened her mouth to say something undoubtedly crass before she closed it with a snap and furrowed her brow, thinking deeply.

"I think I may know a solution," she said slowly after a minute. "You have both a wand and a vault key, right?"

When he nodded she grabbed his arm tightly. "Do you trust me?"

Harry raised both eyebrows, but nodded, if a bit reluctantly. She twisted on her heel and suddenly he was being crushed on all sides while being sucked through a straw as she Side-Along Apparated him.

They materialised in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic and Amanda dragged him by the arm towards the guard point to have his wand registered before he had a chance to catch his breath and protest.

"A witch or wizard can identify themselves using a number of Ministry issued documents," she said excitedly as they waited in the short line. "However, if such a document is not available an independent pair of indirect identifying methods may suffice."

"How do you know all that," he asked, bewildered.

She gave a little jolt at the question and flushed. "Didn't I tell you? I work here."

She dragged him into a crowded lift and through a maze of corridors all the way to the Department of Transportation on Level Six. Finally, she came to a halt in a crowded waiting room where they joined a significantly longer line of people headed for a closed door marked 'Apparition Regulation'.

"You really don't like giving directions, do you?" he asked as he rubbed his arm where a hand-shaped bruise may or may not be developing.

"Nope," she said shamelessly, popping her lips. "I'm terrible at that, but wasn't this much more fun and" - she fluttered her eyelashes again and turned her voice husky - "intimate?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her antics. "The time when it was acceptable to drag someone off to your cave is quite a ways behind us, I believe. They frown on such things nowadays."

Lost in happy banter Harry barely paid attention as the people before them were called into the room beyond only to exit deliriously happy or depressed minutes later. Suddenly there wasn't anyone standing in front of him any more and he looked at the closed door in surprise.

Just as it opened and he was about to stride in a familiar no-nonsense voice called his name from across the room.

Harry jerked around to see Madam Bones striding in his direction from where she had just exited the Floo Regulation office, staring straight at him and looking none too pleased.

Amanda let out a small squeak beside him. "Sorry, gotta go, bye," she rushed out, before promptly disappearing in the opposite direction of the frightening woman.

Harry stared after her in confusion and was thus surprised by the firm hand that grabbed his arm – incidentally in the same spot Amanda had squeezed him – as Madam Bones firmly led him to the side.

"But..." he sputtered. "It was my turn."

"Then you should not have sent me a howler, Mr White," she said without a hint of sympathy. "Suddenly I find myself not caring about little things like your place in line."

Harry shook his head and tensed as he realised this may be serious. "Are you arresting me?"

She grunted. "While insulting the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement at the top of your voice is rude and unwise for all sorts of reasons" - she eyed him sternly in clear disapproval - "regrettably, it is not a crime. Of course, there is nothing stopping me from doing something equally petty in return, like forcing you from the head to the back of a very long queue."

Dragging him into an empty office she closed the door and shot spells at the floor, walls and ceiling before enclosing them in a privacy bubble.

Harry winced. "I am a little sorry about that, you know. Not a lot, but a little. It's just... I trusted you with some very dangerous private information and you just went and blabbed to the Department of Mysteries."

"I did nothing but what the law demanded of me, Mr. White," she said sternly. "And for your information, Unspeakables are generally very good at keeping secrets."

"Rookwood was an Unspeakable," he retorted and at that she fell silent and sighed.

"You're not the first person to be upset with me for doing my job and you'll hardly be the last, so I don't really care about that. Grabbing you was just convenient as I won't have to send you a letter later." She eyed him intently. "I wanted to know if you had any more of your unique information."

Harry looked at her in confusion. "Why do you care? So far you haven't exactly done anything with the information I gave you already."

She arched an eyebrow. "Have you read anything in the papers about any attacks?"

"Of course I have," he said angrily. "Two bridges in London blew up killing a hundred-"

"Except that one," she interrupted.

"I..." He opened his mouth but closed it again when he couldn't remember any. "No," he said confused. He was sure there should have been a couple by now.

"That would be because we stopped all four of them but are keeping it quiet to sow confusion," she said haughtily, but with a hint of satisfaction. "They don't yet know we were expecting them to attack. Right now they're thinking the Aurors have very good response time after we're alerted. As soon as the Minister finds out though, the law forces me to disclose that we knew, though not how. What happens after that is anyone's guess."

"You stopped attacks?" Harry asked, reeling. "But why not the big one with the bridges?" He scowled. "Was it because the victims were Muggles?"

"Do you even remember the casualty figures you 'predicted'?" she hissed icily.

"Of course, about three hundred and fifty..." He trailed off and his eyes widened.

"Two hundred and fifty people lived," he whispered reverently.

"And none of those that died were children," she added before sighing. "I personally cast weak aversion wards at all four entrances, repelling all but a third of the people crossing and completely preventing children or anyone with them from setting a single foot on those bridges."

"I... That's...," he sputtered before taking a deep breath. "Why not stop it completely?"

Her eyelid twitched and inwardly Harry screamed at himself that he should _stop pissing off this woman_.

"You gave us less than twenty four hours notice of a big attack in a public Muggle area we couldn't evacuate completely because the mad bastards would just have blown up something else. Defending that entire area would take more Aurors than we have and most of those are skittish at the idea of fighting Voldemort in the first place and doubly so because they know they cannot even kill him. Without details beyond 'they blow up the bridge' we had no idea what to expect and too little time to prepare.

"I was there," she said in disgust. "Dozens of Death Eaters appeared in the air obscured by clouds of smoke, blew the supports to smithereens and disappeared within ten seconds. There was nothing we could have done. We just didn't have enough time."

Eyes blazing she turned to him. "We need to know more and we need it as soon as possible. Is there anything more you can tell me? Anything at all?"

Regretfully Harry shook his head. "I'm working on it. All I have to go on are my memories of reading the paper and they simply aren't clear enough. Augeomency should help and I'm working on that for many reasons, but until then I have nothing."

She clenched her jaw, biting back her disappointment and nodded stoically. "Do what you can. I've never even heard of Augeomency but I assume it's a derivative of Occlumency?"

Harry nodded. "It's one of the Mind Arts."

"Then you study until your brain is bruised and your nose is bleeding. Work hard, because it may well save lives."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I was worried you weren't doing anything with the information I gave you," he confessed before squaring his shoulders and looking her straight in the eyes. "Now that I know you're not, as soon as I have something, so will you."

They parted ways and Harry returned to the waiting area where he quietly joined the back of the queue again, having quite a lot to think about.

He'd badly misjudged the woman. Just because she was incapable of helping him with one problem didn't mean she wasn't doing anything about the rest. It felt good to know that even if he flat out refused to help the Order he wasn't letting innocent people suffer in his place. Two hundred and fifty people would go on to live their lives. Lives which would have been cut short if not for his actions.

Plus, there had been more attacks later on which had been quietly thwarted. Had they captured any Death Eaters? He forgot to ask.

"Sir?" A female voice jarred him back to the present where a short woman was holding the door open for him. The queue in front of him had miraculously disappeared. "We're ready for you."

The test was simple as Harry obediently followed his instructor's commands, Apparating from one hoop to another before finally making a long-distance jump, appearing next to the frumpy little witch without a problem. Finally, at her invitation, he grabbed her by the arm and Side-Alonged her back to the Ministry, where she told him he passed and directed him to a line of busy secretaries to fill out the paperwork.

"One Apparition Exam and one Apparition Licence with gold star for Side-Along," a blonde female secretary listed off in a bored tone of voice. "Identification please."

"Er, I don't have any papers with me," Harry said awkwardly. It was only now that he realised he had been dragged here by Amanda who had ditched him a while ago without telling him what her plan had been.

"I'm sorry, sir. I am not allowed to award you a licence without proper identification," she rattled off mechanically. "If you go and retrieve it right now it will be waiting for you when you return. Please don't Apparate, however, because I will be forced to add a fine to the fee."

Frustratedly Harry tried to remember what Amanda had rattled off. "Isn't there some regulation about, um, independent pairs for identifying, or something?" he clumsily tried to parrot her. He was fairly certain he got it wrong.

The secretary's bored look was finally replaced by a flat one as she stared at him, utterly unimpressed.

"Blast it," he said finally, fishing in his pocket for his wand and Gringotts key which he dropped on the desk. "I was told just bringing these would be enough."

She pursed her lips and eyed him up and down as if weighing his worth. "You're going to insist, aren't you?"

"Yes," Harry said full of conviction, adding a firm nod for emphasis even if he didn't know exactly what he would be insisting on.

The woman let out a long aggravated breath. "A wand and Gringotts key can indeed substitute for lack of proper identification, providing it is, in fact, your wand and the key and vault are officially and properly registered in your name." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Of course," he lied through his teeth.

She pursed her lips and for a second Harry thought she would call him out on his bluff before she handed him a stack of parchment.

"Fill that out, hand it in, get your licence," she said, resuming her bored tone and waving him off. "If you ask more annoying questions I'm going to double the fee."

* * *

An hour later Harry walked into Gringotts and waited for a teller to free up.

"Hello," he greeted the surly goblin, placing his key on the counter. "I would like to officially register my vault in in my name." He smiled self-deprecatingly and placed his newly minted Apparition Licence next to his key. "I brought proper identification this time."

* * *

**A/N:** So, a lot has happened off-screen and Harry's getting all caught up now. His actions ripple across this dimension, changing lives beyond what he predicted. And contrary to his prior expectations, not everything turns out to suck.

Also, we finally meet Iris. It's taken eight chapters, but there you go. Low-key help like what Harry offers is unlike anything she's ever gotten and yet exactly what she needs. Counterparts ahoy.

Finally, Harry gets to work the system. No way that a hostile incompetent government like the Ministry works well with Gringotts. A clever ploy that does not immediately fall down around his ears. Could it be because he didn't come up with the plan on his own?

Recommendation of the week: Elsewhere, but not Elsewhen by The Mad Mad Reviewer. Harry gets sent away from his dimension by a classy, cunning Voldemort. A brilliant fic for a great many reasons, barring that it hasn't updated in a while.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	9. Hero Maintenance, thank you for waiting

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 9 – Hero Maintenance, thank you for waiting**

_Dear Anonymous 'Pretentious Twit' Samaritan,_

_Merlin, what a mouthful._

_Yes, I do have a nickname. That is, I have many, but there is one that I actually like. A few months after meeting my best friends I dubbed them the 'Brawn' and 'Brains' of our trio. Sticking with the letter B it took them seconds to come up with one for me. Feel free to call me Boss as well. I don't mind, I promise._

_About Dobby, I have to say I'm happy he's standing up for himself. Don't ever let him name anything, though. Currently he is calling me 'Great Miss Iris 'Boss' Potter, ma'am.' I'm trying to change his mind but I'm not having much luck._

_Which brings me to your secrets. I'm sorry but I can't promise to keep them. We're at war and though I'm not much for responsibility, I like to think I'm not foolish either. Dumbledore keeping secrets from me resulted in bad things happening. I don't want to explore if the same holds in reverse._

_Your letters and help really haven't been about the war though. Somehow you, a complete stranger, are the only one to treat me like a person, regardless of my past and future titles. I really appreciate that. Can we keep writing but just not mention anything sensitive? I want to know more about you. Maybe get a chance to do something back._

_Not completely unrelated, I am bored out of my skull. After eagerly anticipating being released from this hellhole it came as a rather large disappointment that my escape was postponed. The great Chief mucketymuck himself came to visit and I was all ready to celebrate but he just needed me for some stupid errand and dumped me back in prison once again. I still don't know how long my sentence is for this summer. Have you got any advice on things for me to do?_

_Cheers,_

_Iris_

Harry read the letter with mixed feelings. In truth, it was not everything he had hoped for. His pseudo-sister had not chosen to trust him out of the blue, to take a leap of faith and allow him to confide in her. On the other hand, he had no doubt he'd made a friend.

It made him smile, because despite having nearly identical pasts they were clearly different people. Her decision to not keep secrets from Dumbledore was one he didn't think he would have made at her age. He had, in fact, counted on her not doing so. And yet, her argument was a sound one and that she could see past the Headmaster's mistakes, directly to the heart of the matter and learn such a lesson from it despite how much it had cost her was very impressive.

He sat back and nodded decisively. Their correspondence meant a lot to both of them. He wasn't willing to jeopardise that by pushing for more trust than she was willing to extend right now.

No, he would write her and tell her about himself, in a roundabout way. Be honest yet anonymous. He could push boundaries when they met face to face come September.

* * *

The Prophet finally broke the story about the foiled Death Eater attacks, but the same issue mentioned how Auror recruiting had practically come to a halt as few people felt they had anything to contribute in the war. Consensus was that it was the Chosen One's duty to win and anyone else would fail, so why try?

Harry ignored the pessimistic wizards and witches through gritted teeth and Iris did the same. Their letters were light-hearted as they poked fun at each other and shared stories of their pasts, finding – to the surprise of only one of them – plenty of similarities.

Thus July passed into August in a flurry of correspondence and Divination practice. Harry expanded his studies in Augeomency to include Occlumency as well and slowly he tried to familiarise himself with the many methods of Divining that he was supposed to teach to eager children next school year. In his opinion, he was doing pretty well.

* * *

"I didn't think it was possible to fail so badly at this," Cassandra said in surprise.

Harry shot a flat look at the woman who was peering down at him from under raised eyebrows from her portrait in his living room.

"I mean it. Tarot reading is an imprecise art, but that draw was supposed to represent your past which cannot change. There is only one single card impossible to draw in a personal reading and you manage to do so. Well done."

She mock clapped and Harry rolled his eyes as he looked down at his desk and the single turned over tarot card from which a hooded figure stared at him, giant scythe in hand.

Death.

A most perplexing representation of anyone's personal past. Truly, it should have been impossible to draw. And it would have been if he weren't Harry Potter and hadn't been playing loose with Death's rules literally since he was a baby.

With a sigh he ignored Cassandra's cackling and drew a second card, this one representing the present.

A devious looking man was pictured picking up swords in an arena with a dark smile. The Five of Swords.

"You'll be glad to know that one isn't impossible," Cassandra remarked with a smug smile. "Do you know what it means?"

"Selfishness," Harry said absently, deep in thought as to why he'd drawn that one. He'd been called many things in his life, but selfish was definitely never one of them. It was a little insulting, actually.

"It's not that surprising, I'd say," Cassandra remarked. "Didn't you take the job without having a clue about what to teach?"

"First of all, I hardly had a choice. And since then I've been studying like never before to be a good teacher. My selfishness – if it was that – was in the past, not the present."

The more he thought on it the more perplexed he was. Weren't hundreds of lives saved through his actions? Hadn't he tried to do the right thing at every turn? Iris may have given him a demeaning nickname, but she agreed to call him Samaritan nonetheless. That hardly fitted with what he was seeing right now.

"Well, with Death as your past I'm not surprised your present draw is strange as well." She blinked. "Speaking of strange, how come you knew what the Five of Swords symbolised? I thought you didn't know anything about Divining?"

Harry shrugged. "There was only one way I was ever going to pass the OWL so I studied theory like a crazy person. It was boring to learn all those symbols but at least I passed."

She shook her head and muttered something about wasted talent and wasted descendants but Harry ignored her as he drew his final card.

Bewildered he stared at a naked man and woman being blessed by an angel. The Lovers.

"Ah. The teenage boy's favourite," Cassandra said dryly. "Strange how in every deck of cards the one with naked people is always obviously handled more often than the others."

"I... But," Harry spluttered and jerked his eyes away from the card, cheeks flushing. "How can I draw this? I don't even know anyone here!"

Cassandra arched an eyebrow even as her eyes glittered in amusement. "Well clearly you're getting to know someone. Intimately."

"Right," Harry choked out. Merlin, he hadn't been this embarrassed since Amanda had set her sights on him and tried to make his brain explode with all the images she conjured.

Like several times before in the last month his thoughts strayed to the woman and how she'd ditched him when confronted with Madam Bones. Her flight – really, what else could he call it – was troubling in many ways, more so because she hadn't contacted him again afterwards.

Being ditched by a pretty girl stung, sure, but as she was the one he ahd confided his secrets in he was more than a little worried.

"You're no help at all." He sighed, frustrated.

"Of course not," she said archly. "An outsider cannot truly understand the depths and secrets of a personal reading, though I confess this one is more confusing to me than many others. Would you like my thoughts on the matter?" Harry nodded hesitantly and she thought for a moment.

"I have good news and bad news," she concluded finally. Harry rolled his eyes when she paused dramatically and gestured for her to get on with it. "The good news is that your life is looking up. To go from death via selfishness to lovers is a definite improvement."

Harry sighed resignedly. "I'm already regretting asking for your input."

She gasped loudly in mock outrage. "And you haven't even heard the bad news yet."

"Merlin spare me."

Her face took on a solemn cast fit for consoling a patient on his sickbed. "Best I can tell you're a narcissistic necrophiliac."

Raising his hands in disgust Harry got to his feet and stormed for the trap door that would lead him away from the crazy witch. Maybe he should just get in some Occlumency practice.

Her cackling followed him down the ladder.

"Should I be fearing for my virtue as a portrait of a dead woman?"

* * *

Despite the fact that Snape wasn't involved, Occlumency practice was still unpleasant. Without a Legilimens to help him, practising required something else to try and break into his mind. According to the books, long term exposure to a boggart or short term exposure to a Dementor were typical options.

Of course due to his bipolar luck Harry's boggart _was_ a Dementor. It helped, in that he could get optimal results for Occlumency in a shorter amount of time than other people. Unfortunately it required him painfully having his mind broken into by his greatest fear: twice as unpleasant.

Without any other options, however, Harry steeled himself and visited the Room of Requirement every day to have his mind turned to mush in a paradoxical effort to protect it.

Today, the screams nobody else could hear finally became too much and he sank down on one knee.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he called out, panting heavily, his vision swimming.

A luminous silver stag sprung out of his wand and cantered to the Boggart-Dementor, prancing in front of it, inching ever closer. It was herding the abomination to the corner where its new home sat.

Harry had originally found the creature in a large chest where it was comfortable and quite ready to frighten innocent passers-by. After being forced to face the thing time and time again, however, he was quite eager for a bit of petty revenge.

The stag feinted to the side, and the boggart responded, trying to flee. Quickly the stag jumped the other way and caught it on its antlers, hurtling the boggart to its new home. It took the only way out, away from the patronus and fled inside. With a snap the matchbox closed behind it.

From its position on the floor it rattled a little, making a tiny sound of discontent. Harry chuckled maliciously.

"Not quite so frightening now, are you," he said, slumping to the floor, laying spread-eagled on his back in exhaustion.

"That'll teach you," he mumbled even as he sunk into an Augeomency trance to help his mind build shields around it.

Sadly he was a little distracted with thoughts about Amanda that the Tarot reading raised. Why had she fled from the Head of the DMLE? Did she have a criminal past? Her silence since then surely made her look guilty.

He was certain she hadn't had a Dark Mark, so that was something at least, but there were still so many questions. After Rosmerta told him Amanda never came back to the Three Broomsticks he had resigned himself to never getting them answered, but this stupid Tarot reading had raised them all up again.

"Are you practising for your Lovers card?" Cassandra's voice pierced the silence, startling him. With a baleful eye Harry looked around.

Without his notice the Room of Requirement had shifted around him, once more producing the desk and portrait from back when he had first met Cassandra. In addition, there was a crystal ball on its cast-iron stand on the desk.

"Sodding intelligent buildings," Harry grumbled half-heartedly as he slowly got to his feet and stumbled over to the desk. "Why are you suddenly here?"

Cassandra shrugged. "Doesn't this room make your thoughts reality?" She winced. "You weren't dreaming about me in a pose on a card, were you?"

"Your virtue is quite safe," he said dryly. He looked the crystal ball in front of him up and down. "Perhaps it thinks I should use Divining to get answers to my questions?"

"Another shot at directed viewing, hmm?" she said, pensive. "That hasn't really worked for you so far."

Harry shrugged. He'd gotten some results 'viewing in the blind', as Cassandra called it, but trying for a vision on a specific subject was still tricky. Mostly he didn't get anything. The one time he did he'd asked for an omen about dangers to him in the near future and gotten a very brief vision of a goat and a snake.

They probably symbolised Dumbledore and Voldemort, but that really said nothing new to him. He already knew he got along with neither. Either way it said nothing specific about an attack on him, or something.

Still...

"Can't hurt to try," he mumbled.

He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, focussing on Amanda, on his memory of them drinking and laughing and walking and talking right until she fled. He opened them in a flash and tapped his forehead with his wand. "_Iungo._"

Reaching forward with both hands, as soon as he cupped the ball smoke whirled within, clumping together and forming a smoky apparition of a pensieve before dissolving into nothingness once more.

Harry frowned as he sat back, ignoring the now familiar snapping of the gold thread between his inner eye and the ball. Had he focussed too much on the concept of memory? Or was there something in his memory of Amanda that could yield answers to his questions if viewed in a pensieve?

"What did you see?" Cassandra asked impatiently. "For that matter, what was your focus?"

"A pensieve and a girl," Harry said absently, still deep in thought. Cassandra's wolf-whistle broke him out of his trance and he realised that confessing that might not have been the wisest of actions.

"So there _is_ a lover in your future. Or your past, judging by the pensieve." She hummed thoughtfully. "You're not stalking her, are you?"

"Of course not," he said, offended.

"Good. Because using Divination to get in her robes is just wrong."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his back to her. Even though it hadn't been there before he wasn't surprised by the marble pedestal holding a pensieve only feet away. With obvious ease of repetition he drew a silvery strand from his temple and deposited his memories of Amanda in the bowl. After only a moment of hesitation he jumped in after.

To his disappointment, besides making him smile and blush there wasn't much there. She'd been angry when she first stormed into the bar, yet it hadn't been directed at him but at her ex-boyfriend. When she started flirting she had obviously enjoyed his embarrassment but it wasn't malicious at all.

Telling himself he was only checking for a Dark Mark he let his eyes run over her body. Several times. Thorougly. Ah, who was he kidding, she was gorgeous. More, she knew it and wielded her beauty like a weapon at his sheltered self. It was very nice to look at, but there was no sign of an ugly snake tattoo anywhere.

With a sigh he exited the pensive. It seemed he needed more practice before his visions could answer questions.

* * *

"There is a problem with your booklist, Mister White," McGonagall said from the opposite side of the desk in her office. She had summoned him in her role of Deputy Headmistress and Harry had loyally responded.

"Oh," he said, confused. "I took your advice and visited Flourish and Blotts. They had copies of each of them on hand."

She ground her teeth. "And they can procure copies of the volumes on the list you gave me, Mister White. The problem is that you have neglected to mention material for the NEWT students."

"NEWT students?" he blurted out in surprise. As far as he knew Trelawney hadn't ever had any of those. "I didn't think Hogwarts offered the course at that level."

"You yourself asked for no restrictions with regards to your students and with prophecy in the news Divination is proving to be surprisingly... popular." The pinched expression on her face left no doubt about her feelings on the matter. "I would have been quite willing to bar students from pursuing the course at NEWT level, but by this time OWL results have been sent out to the new sixth years and there have already been enrolment requests for your course."

"I see," Harry said hesitantly. He barely knew enough Divination to teach the third through fifth years. What was he going to do for advanced students?

He eyed McGonagall and had to stifle a chuckle at the almost tangible displeasure she was radiating. At least he wasn't the only one unhappy with this development.

Ah well, there was nothing for it now.

"I will see to correcting this oversight immediately," he said in as pompous a tone as he could manage.

McGonagall glared at him. "See that you do." In a clearly dismissive gesture she turned away from him in favour of a stack of parchment on her desk. "If there is nothing else?"

"Actually," Harry said on a whim as his recent vision sparked another thought, "I wanted to put in a request for a pensieve." He was making use of one almost daily and he didn't feel like going to the Room of Requirement quite as often when the halls were filled with students. Plus, it would honestly be a useful teaching tool.

McGonagall pursed her lips and slowly raised her eyes up until she could flatly stare at him. "Why?"

"It's an incredibly useful tool to review various visions. The only way to share them between Diviners, really. After all, I can't see what one of my students sees in a crystal ball and details are inevitably lost in a description."

For a moment McGonagall was silent before she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mr. White, for the last five years Rolanda Hooch, our flight instructor, has practically begged the board of governors for funding for new brooms in order to save students from injury. She has not been successful. A pensieve is far more expensive than a simple set of brooms and flying is a far more practical pursuit than Divination." She visibly restrained herself from saying anything else derogatory. "I will forward your request to the board, but do not expect them to accede. Plan your lessons without one or, if you truly feel it is essential, acquire one on your own."

Harry rolled his eyes. She knew exactly what kind of funds he had access to and though he wasn't quite sure what a pensieve would cost it was in all likelihood beyond him.

* * *

A visit to Diagon Alley proved his intuition correct. Unless he was willing to pay about a year's worth of his new salary – funds he didn't have – buying a new pensieve was not an option. Not so easily deterred he made his way to one of the second-hand shops, hoping for a bargain.

Inside the obviously expanded space filled with shelves of dusty knick-knacks Harry was faced with the familiar sight of Mundungus Fletcher haggling with a store owner. To his surprise he was again wearing witches robes and hiding his face in a cowl. The heavy smell of tobacco was unmistakeable, however.

Both crook and store owner looked up when the bell above the door chimed and Harry came to a halt. The three of them stared at each other.

For a moment Harry was tempted to turn right back around and leave, not happy to encounter an Order member, no matter how accidental. He steeled himself, though. No way in hell would he let them dictate any more of his life than they already did.

He turned away to peruse the shelves and, unaware of his inner turmoil, the two men returned to their haggling.

The shop was a veritable treasure trove of interesting objects. It seemed wizards were utterly incapable of making something without side effects. An at first sight ordinary kettle, enchanted to pour tea, could obviously not do so without producing a dignified cough of steam and lifting its lid like a top hat before growing legs and bowing over a cup to finally pour its contents.

Wizards were weird.

Sadly, however, there was a distinct lack of pensieves in the shop and Harry left it half an hour later, having seen many interesting things and feeling thoroughly entertained but not having found what he came there for.

Barely had he set foot out the door before he came face to face with Amanda, who was toting a number of bags, clear evidence of her recent shopping.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, smiling happily, before frowning and biting her lower lip.

Harry's mind was whirling. Thoughts of Amanda had produced a vision about a pensieve. Acting on that vision, he ended up talking to McGonagall, who suggested – ever so politely – he buy one himself. That led him to Diagon Alley and who should he run into there but the woman herself. There was no way this was a coincidence.

"Are you all right?" Amanda asked asked worriedly and suddenly he realised he'd been staring blankly at her.

"Divining is wicked," he blurted out before shaking his head rapidly and coughing in his hand. "Sorry. What I mean is that I'm surprised to run into you. Honestly, I didn't think I'd see you again."

She flinched. "Would it help if I said I'm sorry for ditching you?"

"It would probably help if you told me why," he said, taking care to keep any kind of accusation out of his voice. "I was worried."

She fidgeted awkwardly. "It's kind of embarrassing."

He snorted. "That sounds like decent payback for trying to burn out my cheeks."

"But it looked so good on you," she retorted with a small smile and despite his questions Harry found his own mouth curling upwards in response.

Together they started walking, ambling aimlessly over the cobblestones.

"Are you in some kind of trouble with the law?" he asked gently when she stayed silent.

"What?" She whirled her head around to look at him before groaning and hiding her face in her hands. "Scratch that. This is even more embarrassing than I thought it would be."

Relief swept over him and Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning. "Out with it. Share your sordid story."

Amanda sighed. "Bonesy – er, Madam Amelia Bones – is kind of friends with my mom. She wasn't very impressed with some of the choices I made recently and the last time we spoke there may have been yelling. She's frightening when she's angry."

Harry vividly recalled her icy demeanour as she towered over him when she was merely frustrated and shuddered. "No argument there."

"Exactly," she exclaimed, happy that he knew what she meant before sobering. "She wasn't exactly wrong though. That kind of made it... not better so I scampered, not wanting to face her just then."

Harry let out a slow breath. "I was worried you might be in some kind of trouble and started thinking maybe I revealed my secrets to a master criminal of some kind."

She gave him a hurt look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Hey, I said _master_ criminal. It was a compliment!"

She rolled her eyes. "I promise you, I am not a criminal, master or otherwise."

"Good." He thought over what she'd revealed. "Why didn't you owl me?"

She sighed. "I was... conflicted about meeting you again." Her eyes met his, all apologetic and honest before she hung her head as she continued her explanation. "My track record of dates has been terrible lately and I didn't exactly leave a good impression either of the times we met. I didn't want to top that with some kind of awkward apology note about bad choices in my past. I figured if it were meant to be we would run into each other like we did the first two times."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "And so we did."

"And so we did."

The silence that followed was awkward. She was visibly uncomfortable, but unlike their earlier embarrassment competition Harry took no enjoyment from it. He missed the rosy flush on her cheeks and the sparkling eyes that had drawn him in and made her gorgeous looks so irresistible.

He wanted to see that look on her again, he realised. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"You _are_ sorry, right?" he asked, leading.

She arched an eyebrow. "And what if I am?"

"Well, then you could make it up to me," he said casually.

A second eyebrow joined the first. "Really now?" She licked her lips. "What did you have in mind?"

His smile turned brighter even as his heart beat just that bit faster. "Buy me dinner." Please say yes, please say yes.

She blinked. "Nobody has asked me out in quite such a fashion before," she demurred.

"Ah, but then they weren't – what was it you said? – 'meant to be'," he retorted wisely.

"I did, didn't I," she mused with a smile. "Very well. Might as well replace that awkward impression with a better one."

She put one hand on his chest, and turned to face him, bringing both of them to a stop. Placing the other arm around his neck she drew him closer until she was practically draped over him. Slowly she tilted her head upwards, bringing her lips closer and closer to his.

Harry could feel the warm pressure of her hand on his chest, nails scratching slightly, being held there in between her breasts and his vision narrowed until there was nothing but her face, her eyes, her lips.

"Will you join me for dinner?" she said in a breathy whisper, faces an inch apart.

Goosebumps crawled all over his back and he shivered in pleasure. "I would like that very much," he said equally softly.

With an impish smile she twirled away from his front to his side where she ducked under his arm to drape it over her shoulder even as she put her own around his middle.

"Three Broomsticks?" she asked as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Harry tried to ignore the rapid beating of his heart and swallowed. "Sounds enticing."

Slowly he started leading her towards the Apparition point of the Alley. "As it so happens I am now legally allowed to Apparate."

Her head jerked around, eyes wide with eager anticipation. "You are?"

Harry smugly nodded. "I followed some good advice."

Her smile was radiant, making him feel all giddy inside and Harry counted himself oh so very lucky that he got to meet this woman again. Yes, Divination really was awesome.

* * *

"Wait, someone actually wanted to interview you?" Amanda asked between bites.

Harry nodded energetically. "With Divination in the news everybody is suddenly interested. The Daily Prophet sent me an owl asking to meet. They probably wanted another 'expert opinion'." He grimaced. "As if they hadn't published twenty different ones of those already. I couldn't say no quickly enough."

Amanda snorted. "Why not give them a real expert's opinion then. Prove all the others frauds?"

"And fuel this prophecy-craze even further? Are you insane? Besides, I'm still not all that eager to draw attention to myself."

"Point." She emphasised that by gesturing with her fork. "Still, it's not every day that you get a chance to get your name in the Prophet, especially when it comes to Divination. You have to admit, your subject is not exactly... well-received."

Harry chuckled. "I'm pretty sure McGonagall hates me. She told me today that I have NEWT students, the first for Divination in a very long time. That prophecy proved to people that it's real, you know?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose it would at that. I know everybody always thought Trelawney was a crackpot."

"I'm not entirely convinced she wasn't. Yes, she's a proven Prophet, but as for the rest..." He spread his arms and shrugged. "It's fuelled a lot of fears actually. I got another letter, this one from a concerned parent. His son suddenly started spouting something and now they fear he is a Prophet too. Don't know if I can prove it, but I'm meeting them tomorrow to answer some questions, at least."

Amanda smiled softly. "That's a very nice thing to do."

Harry blushed and quickly filled his mouth with his last bite. She kept staring at him, however. "It's nothing. He'll be one of my students either way. I just don't want to start the year by making a bad impression."

In response to his deflection she eyed him up and down. "Nope. I stand by what I said."

Blushing, Harry looked down. "Thank you."

"Aww," she cooed, "you're adorable when you're flustered."

After the meal the pair shared an ice cream dessert where Amanda made every effort to steal his spoon's contents before he could eat them until that degenerated in a mock-fencing lesson with ice-cream covered spoons. With one seat shortly covered in cold, coloured puddles she happily vacated her side of the table and sidled in next to him. They continued chatting, fuelled by good food and a little drink until it grew late and they shared a contented silence.

"Merlin, it's been a long time since I did this," Amanda said from where she was curled up in the crook of his elbow.

"Did what?"

"Have a good date. A very good date."

"I'm flattered, but I'm not sure I believe you. Somehow I just can't imagine you not having fun, date or no."

She fidgeted with the edge of a napkin. "Like I said, I made some bad choices."

Resolved to bring back her earlier contented smile Harry leaned over and softly pecked her on the lips. When he drew back her eyes were wide open and oh so very vulnerable, but her smile was once again back. Slowly her hand reached for his neck and she drew him down again into a deeper kiss this time.

"Don't let tonight end," she whispered pleadingly when they came up for air, eyes sparkling. "Take me to your tower?"

Harry chuckled deep in his chest and kissed her again. "Take you to my tower."

She nodded slowly and crawled into his lap, straddling him, before kissing him until they were both breathless.

"Yes," she whispered again, softly nipping the side of his neck up to his ear while she ran her fingers through his hair. "Take me to your tower."

* * *

**A/N:** Rushing through half the summer here. I'm eager to get to the juicy bits. Already I'm salivating thinking of the next chapter.

No, there will not be any lemons.

It's good to see Harry be happy for a change. That and he's developing skills. Don't say I never listen to my readers.

Recommendation of the week: Through The Looking Glass by James Spookie. I actually found another pulled-into-their-dimension story. This one's current with the last update ten days ago. Enjoy.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	10. Your hero has not engaged the enemy?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 10 – Your hero has not engaged the enemy?**

Harry walked through Hogwarts' halls, lit up by the bright mid-morning sun, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

"Good morning, portrait of a lady I don't know," he said, happily waving before briskly saluting the suit of armour next to it. "Good morning, sir knight, may your day be as wonderful as mine."

A grumpy hiss from near its legs drew his attention.

"Oh, what's this?"

Getting down to his knees, Harry reached beyond the plated metal boots until his fingers touched soft fur. Grasping, he withdrew a black cat with red eyes from her hiding place.

"Good morning, Mrs. Norris," he said happily, cuddling her to his chest as he stood up.

The cat hissed and clawed at him. Her nails stuck in his thick robe and she frantically fought to free herself, yowling and writhing to get out of his grasp. Harry ignored her struggles and instead held her just a tad tighter, cooing like a parent over their happily gurgling baby.

"What. Are you doing. To my cat?"

The smile on Harry's face flickered as he slowly turned to face the grouchy bearded face of Argus Filch, the caretaker, who looked spitting mad and quite ready to beat him with his broom if he didn't get his question answered right this instant. His smile only faltered for an instant though and quickly resumed its full strength until it radiated happiness strong enough to bleach the cat's black fur to blonde.

Nothing, but nothing, could make him feel less than happy after the night he'd had.

"Good morning, Mister Filch," Harry greeted him happily. "I was just wishing the lovely Mrs. Norris here a wonderful day."

With his index finger he lightly scratched her little head.

Ears pent flat against her skull, the animal hissed at him and glared through malevolent red eyes.

"Put. Her. Down."

Harry blinked and relaxed his arms. "But of course."

Mrs. Norris, sensing freedom, pushed off against his chest for leverage and jumped away as far as she could manage, incidentally colliding with Filch himself. Claws extended, she tried to find something to hold on to on her new perch.

"Ow! Gentle, my sweet. Calm down, will you," Filch grumbled as she climbed up his body using her sharp nails on his arms and chest. Finally she reached his shoulder and calmed a little, turning on the spot and hissing sharply.

Filch ran his thumb between her ears. "There, there, my sweet. You're safe now."

Harry watched them with a tiny hint of familiar loathing for the pair, but it was washed away under his good mood. This was a new world and he had not yet established quite the difficult relationship with the caretaker that he had in his old one. Perhaps today would see them turning over a new leaf?

"It is magnificent to see such a close bond between a man and his familiar," Harry praised.

Filch gave him a baleful eye and scrounged up his nose as if he smelled something foul. "Who are you?"

Instead of a handshake – which he wasn't sure would be appreciated at the moment – and bolstered by an abundance of cheer that he could just not contain Harry opted for an elaborate bow complete with hand flourish. "I, my good sir, am Harry White, Hogwarts' new Divination Professor."

The caretaker took a wary step back, eyeing him like he might be contagious. "Job doesn't call for much contact with animals, I take it?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I mean, there is haruspicy, which is seeking omens in an animal's entrails-"

Filch took another step backwards and half turned, shielding Mrs. Norris with his body and his body with his broom, which he raised, ready to fight off all comers.

"-but that just sounds messy and wrong and I've never done that," Harry babbled when he realised this was definitely going in the wrong direction. "Honestly, I was just saying good morning."

The caretaker narrowed his eyes. For a moment he stared, before nodded with exaggerated slowness and putting his broom back on the ground. He didn't relax his wary posture, though.

"Um..." Harry held back the urge to laugh hysterically. How did he get into these kinds of situations? "It's nice to meet you?"

Mrs. Norris batted a paw at Filch's ear – without the claws this time – and the man scowled in response. "Mrs. Norris disagrees."

"Right. Well." Merlin, this was deliciously awkward. "I should probably be going then. Got an appointment with a potential Prophet, anyway."

The man scowled before turning on his heel and stomping away, his broom trailing behind him. The black cat on his shoulder kept staring and spitting at Harry, apparently afraid that he might curse them in the back.

It wasn't until they turned the corner that Harry allowed himself to relax, regain his happy smile – edged with a hint of glee – and let out a few quiet cackles as he skipped further down the corridor. Merlin, what a wonderful morning.

* * *

Unlike what he'd told Filch, his appointment wasn't until lunch so Harry quite happily spent the intervening hour laying on his back on a conjured blanket on the grass, enjoying the sunshine and daydreaming behind a goofy smile.

Merlin, Divination was wonderful.

Tarot cards were marvels and the crystal ball was a godsend.

They had led him to Amanda.

Well, to be honest they had led him to the idea of a pensieve, which had led to a completely unrelated sequence of events which had led him to Amanda. Would it always be that roundabout a journey?

A miniscule frown marred his happy face.

He'd had one other directed vision, a single time when he'd gotten the crystal ball to answer to a question that he posed. It was kind of an important question: what immediate dangers he would face.

Could there be more to his vision of a snake and a goat than he'd suspected? Was he supposed to pursue this one like he'd done with the pensieve?

He was pretty sure they symbolised Voldemort and Dumbledore – it was the logical answer, after all – but paradoxically it was because of the certainty he felt that he began having doubts. Such straightforwardness was very different from the nebulous direction hinted at by the pensieve vision, not to mention that, as an answer, the concept of the two prominent figures was rather abstract.

It could hint at the people themselves, or their factions. It could mean they would target him directly or that he might be caught in the periphery of some other attack.

Or it could not mean Voldemort and Dumbledore at all, in which case he had no clue whatsoever.

Harry shook his head to clear it. He was not going to brood and mope on such a wonderful day. It took only the memory of the earth-shattering early morning hours to banish his frown and draw out his full smile again.

No, for now he would bask happily. There would be time to ponder the darkness later.

* * *

Harry basked so happily, in fact, that he ended up running a little late.

He was worried he wouldn't recognise the family he was supposed to meet among the Three Broomsticks' lunch crowd – their only contact had been by owl, after all – but Rosie waved him over and pointed him upstairs. Apparently the Hendersons had asked for a private room and were waiting there for him.

In front of the door he paused for a moment, breathing in deeply and straightening a few imaginary crinkles in his robes. This was to be his first real test as a Professor of Divination and he didn't want to screw it up.

A feather light touch confirmed that his wand was in the holster on his wrist and could be in his hand within moments. Should his ignorance be found out – a distinct possibility with his bipolar luck recently – he'd at least be able to defend himself if things got violent. That, at least, he felt confident about. Today, nothing could hurt him.

Firmly he rapped his knuckles on the hard wood.

"Come in, come in," a jovial voice invited and Harry obliged, stepping into the room and taking in his surroundings.

The room was organised as a cross between a conference room for business meetings and an indoor picnic area, complete with red and white chequered tablecloth spread out over the simple wooden table. On top sat a reed woven basket filled with pub food next to simple jug filled to the brim with something orange, probably pumpkin juice.

On one side of the table sat a boy next to a somewhat portly man in his early forties, an expanse of forehead showing he was in the early stages of losing a little of his short brown hair and the laugh lines around his brown eyes making clear that he didn't care one whit. There was, however, a hint of worry in those eyes now as he stood and rapidly approached Harry with an outstretched hand.

"Professor White, thank you so much for meeting us," he gushed. "I am Mortimer Henderson" - he waved to the boy on the next seat and impatiently gestured for him to come to his feet - "and this is my son, Brian."

Harry turned to look upon the son, a stocky fourteen year old that might make quite the beater someday. Brian dutifully ambled over and shook Harry's hand as well, but where his father was showing signs of hidden tension his eyes were dull as if he were bored and dismayed at having to meet a Professor during the summer holidays.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson, Brian."

"Mortimer, please."

"Then I insist you call me Harry." He paused at the thought that this was one of his future students and added, "Though it's probably best for Brian not to develop bad habits."

Brian shrugged, as if he didn't care either way and Harry was left floundering until Mortimer waved everybody to their seats. Harry took his place on the other side of the table from the father and son duo and observed them.

"Pumpkin juice?" Mortimer offered.

"Please."

The man elbowed his son in the side and meaningfully looked at the topped-off jug. Brian's shoulders sank but he dutifully poured three goblets, sliding them along the table until everyone had something to drink. Mortimer took a big gulp immediately, but Harry merely nodded his head in thanks.

"Are you enjoying your summer holidays?" he asked instead.

Brian nodded stoically. "I was."

Harry had to stifle a chuckle at the teenage drama.

"My son is in the unenviable position of having discovered girls as a species and is in a spot of trouble at the moment." Mortimer explained with a dark growl. He turned to face his son and looked him sternly in the eye. "The next time you encounter the beautiful future lady of a noble house, what do you do?"

"Run away as fast as I can," Brian responded mechanically, as if he had to say this a thousand times before.

"Exactly," Mortimer said with satisfaction. "You'll learn that girls are trouble, my boy, but not half as much as their fathers."

Harry eyed the family antics with amusement.

"So, you're younger than I expected," Mortimer said, turning back to Harry. "You must be something special to be offered a Professorship at your age."

Harry shrugged. "The job offer was very flattering in that respect."

"I can see that. Well, hopefully you can help us," Mortimer said, before gesturing at the food. "But first, dig in."

The next few minutes were spent sampling the variety of specialities the Three Broomsticks was known for far and wide until Harry decided it was time they got to the point.

"What exactly is it that can I help you with?" he asked from over a bite of fish speared on his fork.

Mortimer swallowed and put down his cutlery. "As I wrote to you, Brian's mother and I are concerned. Twice now he has slipped into a trance and started spouting off gibberish that he doesn't remember after the fact. That sounds awfully familiar to that Trelawney woman in the papers so we want to know if he might be a Seer and if so, what to do about it."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "First of all, a Seer's talent does not directly influence a Seer's behaviour. If Brian has such a talent" - he nodded at the boy - "it would not force him to speak. From what you're saying, however, it sounds like he might be a Prophet or maybe even an Oracle."

"And that's different?"

"Very much so. What you called gibberish might have been a genuine prophecy."

"Like the Potter one?"

Harry frowned. "Yes and no. The one in the news is also a genuine prophecy, channelled by a Prophet. However, there exist all kinds of prophecies and not all of them are important. It is quite possible that Brian predicted what a complete stranger would have for dinner in a roundabout way and we would never know until it came true."

He paused "We're getting ahead of ourselves, however. Brian might not be a Prophet."

"Is there a way to prove if he is a Seer, or a Prophet, or whatever?" Mortimer asked anxiously

"Not a straightforward way, I'm afraid." Harry sighed and took a sip of pumpkin juice, thinking as the tangy liquid trickled down his throat. "There exist no spells to prove such a talent one way or the other. It is one of the many reasons why there exists such scepticism towards Divination as a whole. However, if you would consent to share the memory with me maybe I can..." He trailed off as a shudder rippled through his body, followed by an unpleasant tingling from his toes to his ears.

"I can't move my legs," he said, taken aback. He tried to buck in his chair, but none of his limbs would respond to his demands. Everything below his head was paralysed!

"Finally!" Mortimer exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I thought you were never going to drink that swill."

Brian stayed in his seat, staring blankly ahead as if he wasn't even there.

"What did you do?" Harry growled out, his eyes shooting daggers at Mortimer. "Release me!"

The man rolled his eyes. "I don't think so." Flicking his wrist his wand appeared in his hand and he cast a trio of spells. "_Accio wand. Accio portkeys. Accio potions._"

Harry's wand zoomed out of his sleeve but Mortimer negligently swatted it out of the air so that it landed on the floor, out of sight.

"That's it?" Mortimer said in disappointment when nothing else flew at him. "If your goal is to be underestimated because of your pitiful precautions you're doing a marvellous job."

He turned to his son. "_Imperio._ Hold the Professor at wandpoint. If he moves anything but his face, curse him."

Brian fetched his own wand from his pocket and pointed it at Harry over the table, going stock-still like a statue.

Harry watched the events with growing alarm. Desperately he tried to strain his non-existent bonds, but nothing happened. "What did you poison me with?"

"A three-part cocktail," Mortimer replied absently as he rummaged in his robes, producing a sheaf of parchment and a self-inking quill. "I'm sure you've figured out that the first part is a fast-acting mild paralytic for everything below the neck."

"And the rest?" Harry growled.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Mortimer sat down once again and his face took on a businesslike cast as he prepared himself to take notes before reading off a question from the parchment in front of him. "What are your plans for the Dark Lord?"

Harry wanted to spit at him, curse and call him names but to his dismay he felt an unassailable urge well up to answer the question and answer it honestly. A sweat broke out on his forehead as he steadily lost the fight with the compulsion.

"No. Concrete. Plans," he ground out before breathing easier as the compulsion lifted. The cloud that had come over his mind stayed, however, making it hard to think clearly. Even in that state what was happening was rather obvious, though.

"Bloody truth serum!" he spat.

"Oh well done," Mortimer said, not even deigning to look up from writing down the answer. "The Dark Lord was right to be wary of someone with wit like yours." He rolled his eyes. "Do you know the Potter prophecy?"

Harry delayed answering as long as possible, all the while shooting daggers with his eyes. When he was finally forced to give in he made it a point to be as terse as possible. "Yes."

"Do you know what it means?"

Another lengthy pause. "Yes."

Mortimer sighed. "What does it mean?"

Harry tried for a short nonsensical answer, but the compulsion just built and built until he blurted out the best truthful answer he could come up with under the strain. "Iris Potter has to kill the Dark Lord and vice versa."

The Death Eater – because what else could he be – raised an eyebrow. "That sounds unlikely."

"Yes."

Mortimer hummed, but moved on to the next question on his list. "Do you know a way to circumvent the prophecy?"

Harry scowled. "No."

The man wrote that down and then looked at Harry in confusion. "Why _were_ you summoned, then?"

Harry flinched as cold fingers clawed up his spine. He'd thought the Death Eater was interrogating him because of the job he took, but that question proved he knew about the summoning ritual, though apparently not all the details. Unfortunately the serum forced him to answer. "Dumbledore wanted me to kill Voldemort for him."

This time both eyebrows shot up. "Can you?"

"No."

Mortimer blinked and sat back, thinking, before sighing and flinging his quill at the table. "Useless."

He looked at his watch. "Would you rather join the Dark Lord or die?"

Gritting his teeth Harry held out as long as he could before spitting, "Die."

"Fabulous!" Mortimer said, mock-cheering. "I'm glad everybody gets a happy ending."

Shaking his head he turned to the boy by his side, completely dismissing Harry as irrelevant and ordered, "Take a drink of the juice."

Harry kicked himself mentally for not recognising the effects of the Imperius Curse earlier and was forced to watch as Brian took a gulp of the same poisoned pumpkin juice that had Harry under its effects. He tried to protest, but found to his dismay that his mouth was moving sluggishly.

"Heulweuh," he breathed. His mouth was open but his tongue refused to work. Worse, his mouth wouldn't close again. He could still blink, but even that began to feel sluggish and he had to force himself to keep his eyes open, lest he be rendered both paralysed and blind.

"I did say it was a _three_-part cocktail, did I not?" Mortimer remarked. "Now, be quiet. Brian and I have some _issues_ to deal with."

He scowled down at the boy and with a vicious edge, ordered, "Act normally!"

Immediately Brian's face looked stricken and tears welled up. "Please, I'm sorry. Please just let me go."

"You should have thought of that before you considered _defiling my little princess_."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he babbled. "I didn't do anything."

Harry mentally bucked and thrashed, but no matter how much he willed it so, his body wasn't responding. However, with the truth serum's effects coming at an end the cloud that had come over his mind dissipated, allowing him to think once more

His mind raced.

He needed to find a way out, for both of their sakes, but he had no wand, no magical objects and his body was completely unresponsive. The only thing working was... his mind that he had been strengthening with magic for a month.

Immediately he tried to fall into his Augeomency trance, but it was very hard as he had never tried to do so with his eyes open and the paralysis had progressed to the point where he could no longer close them. So instead of a calm and serene environment he was forced to watch as a Death Eater barked at a poisoned boy.

Mortimer narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Did you or did you not ask my little girl, the Heiress to a Noble pureblood house to accompany your filthy Mudblood self on a date?"

Brian shuddered and looked around fearfully for an escape. "I did," he breathed out miserably. "I'm sorry."

Mortimer shook his head to dispel some of his rage. "She is far too young for such things – I'm thinking 30 is a good age – but in either case a bug like you is far below her. So," He jabbed the boy's chest with his wand. "If you find yourself having improper thoughts about the future Lady of a Noble house, what will you do?"

"Run away, run away, run away..." Brian's voice trailed off in a whisper as he closed his eyes.

"Exactly!" Mortimer cried triumphantly. "Or you would, if you would be alive to do so."

Brian's eyes shot open, full of terror. "Please, please, please-"

"Oh yes," the Death Eater said viciously, ignoring his pleas. "And in the mean time..." His mouth curled into a malicious smirk even as his eyes darkened with a predatory look. "What deep dark secrets would you rather die than reveal?"

Wide-eyed, Brian shuddered, tears streaming down his cheeks before he haltingly began to speak in a broken tone.

"I watched... my best friend... in the shower and it excited me but it was wrong and I'm sorry and I touched myself and I'm sorry, so sorry and when I was ten I stole a necklace from the neighbours but I didn't mean to and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Harry couldn't stop a tear from escaping as he was forced to listen to a litany of self-loathing from a fourteen year old boy as any and all secrets and failures were forced out of him in the most degrading and humiliating fashion imaginable.

He redoubled his efforts and this time succeeded at falling into his Augeomency trance, though he remained frighteningly aware of the torture happening only feet away. Ignoring it as best he could, he drew on all the magic not yet bolstering his Occlumency shield or memory recollection or any of the half-dozen other areas of Mind Magic he hadn't spent time studying. Instead, he commanded every last drop to trickle together and gather in a ball.

As soon as he made eye-contact with that Death Eater he planned to throw it in his face. He knew the theory behind Legilimency even though he'd never tried. Maybe he could command the man to release them.

He had to, it was his only hope.

It was slow going, though and he raged and threw himself against the cage holding his body in place as he was forced stare unblinkingly at Brian's tear-stained and tortured face, his heart breaking with every spoken word.

As best he could he tried to convey sympathy and understanding, that it was all right, but Brian's gaze was miles away as the boy lost himself in his darkest memories, forced to the surface at the whim of a Death Eater.

The Death Eater cackled somewhere to the side, outside his field of vision, the laughter growing louder with every tear the boy shed as if they literally fuelled his amusement.

It felt like hours but couldn't have been more than five minutes before Brian's voice hitched and started to slur as the third part of the potion cocktail kicked in and silenced his torrent of torture.

The Death Eater clapped his hands and let out a contented sigh. "That'll teach you to stay away from my little girl."

Harry listened as the man moved around the room, packing up his stuff. He mentally jolted as a hand was placed on his shoulder, but the man didn't enter his field of vision, unknowingly preventing Harry from striking as he planned.

"Well, I should probably be going. It would be awkward to get caught having lunch with two dead bodies," the Death Eater said jovially. "Just so you know, the third compound is a slow-acting but strong paralytic that will stop every muscle, including those drawing air into your lungs and, of course, your heart. That'll happen in five minutes or so for the good Professor here. Little Brian has an extra ten."

No! Harry raged. He needed the man to get over here and look him in the eye!

The Death Eater did not oblige, instead moving around a little more, judging by the footsteps. Harry mentally checked himself over, his worry growing, because his breathing did feel a little more shallow than before, as if his lungs were having trouble getting enough air.

"I think that's everything," the Death Eater said in a final tone, as if sharing parting greetings. "Professor White, thank you for assuring me you are in no way a threat to the Dark Lord like we feared. Truly, it is a great relief to know Dumbledore is as incompetent as ever. Brian, may you burn in hell among all the other little-girl-defiling upstarts."

The click of the door opening was followed by the final the slam of it closing and then Harry was alone with Brian, the pair suffering in silence.

Harry forced down his panic at how his plan had been quashed before he'd even gotten to try it. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Without being bombarded by the psychological torture of a young boy or the taunting joviality of a Death Eater he told himself that now was the time to come up with another of the plans that gave Hermione grey hairs at the age of twelve.

Think! What did he have?

No wand, no mobility, no chance to speak or call for help beyond a ball of useless-mind magic without a target.

But, he did have an ally.

An ally with a wand, he realised, as the Death Eater had allowed him to hold it, his confidence bolstered by the Imperius Curse and the paralytic potion.

Desperately he sought Brian's eyes for some kind of response, but while they were open they were dull and lifeless as the boy stared ahead listlessly, broken and without hope of any kind.

They were eyes though and with his only plan relying on mind magic...

The idea was crazy, based on something he'd never done before and had very little chance of success. Harry didn't give his doubts a second thought.

Slipping further in his Augeomency trance Harry gathered the ball of mind magic and spun it, preparing to use the whole of it in a single shot. He would not get a second chance.

Concentrating, he slowly drew it away from his centre and to the edges where his mind bordered on reality, where the outside world showed through. He drew it to the _exits_.

Fuelled by desperation, he flung the magic into his eyes and imagined how they locked onto Brian's, streaming magic in beams like searchlights.

When studying the Mind Arts, Harry had read the theory of Legilimency.

This was not it.

Legilimency was ideally performed with a wand, an incantation and a strong mental focus on what type of memory to retrieve. Mastery of the art allowed for more leeway and different skills, but generally throwing around mind magic was considered bad form.

Harry didn't care.

The mental link connected and with a jerk Harry was drawn back into his trance, to be promptly sucked from his mind into Brian's where he landed in a cesspool of despair that was the tortured boy's mental centre.

With all his might he dumped what remained of the quickly diminishing ball of mind magic in the boy's brain and used it to force-feed him an idea that his mind should strive for with the utmost concentration beyond all else.

It was two words, strengthened by an image of a small grey stone.

_ACCIO BEZOAR!_

Had the boy had a clear mind it wouldn't have worked, but he was hurt, wounded and exhausted and one thought meant as little to him as any other. Had the boy been free of compulsion it wouldn't have worked, but the Imperius still lingered, making the mind receptive to foreign ideas.

Half-possessed by a dying unpracticed Legilimens, the fourteen year old cast his very first silent spell, concentrating like never before on _needing_ a bezoar down Harry's throat.

A grey stone impacted the window at high speed, piercing it with a crash followed by the clattering of glass shards as it broke and jammed itself down Harry's gullet with such force that his chair teetered on its hind legs.

For a moment nothing happened beyond having his throat bruised and Harry feared he'd been too late, but then his body convulsed and his stomach muscles cramped, forcing him to bend almost in two in his seat.

Sputtering and coughing – because the back of his throat was very sore – he looked around for his wand and made to stand up.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" came a familiar and very unwelcome voice from behind.

The Full Body-Bind hit Harry in the back just as he was standing up. His hands and legs snapped together and he toppled to the floor, landing on top of the wand he had been reaching for.

"Seems like a good choice to wait around after all and not assume you would inevitably die without complications," the Death Eater mused.

A number of bruises and cramped muscles flared in pain as soon as Harry impacted the unforgiving wooden floor. His left arm, however, landed on a thin wooden rod, the shape and size of which felt familiar, even when his whole body weight pressed it deep into his flesh. The shaft of his wand made contact with the skin of his wrist and Harry knew that it was enough.

_Finite!_ he screamed silently at his wand and he felt the Body-Bind being lifted.

He rolled onto his back. "_Stupefy!_"

The Death Eater blanched and quickly put up a shield. The Stunner splashed against it and faded away harmlessly.

Harry hadn't sat still and started banishing the entire contents of the room at the man, interspersed with any spell that came to mind.

Spinning like frisbees, three large plates sailed through the air at the Death Eater from an angle the shield didn't cover. He was forced to dodge and Harry ruthlessly exploited the mistake by firing a cutting curse at the exposed elbow.

It connected, severing cloth and drawing blood. The man cried out in pain and with his concentration broken the shield fell.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry growled.

Red light hit the Death Eater square in the chest and the man slumped onto the floor, unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Harry watched him topple over and land hard with great satisfaction. For good measure he followed his Stunner up with a second, followed by a Full Body-Bind before tying him up in ropes and sticking the whole package to the ceiling.

Only then did he turn around to look at Brian. The boy looked despondent and wrung out and the very shallow movements of his chest were worrying.

Quick as a flash Harry summoned a second bezoar and as soon as it sailed through the broken window forced it down the boy's throat with a little more gentleness than he had been forced to endure. Paralysed, Brian wasn't capable of swallowing though, so Harry had no choice but to guide it down with his fingers, almost getting them bitten off when the boy gasped and shuddered violently before going into convulsions, causing his jaw to snap closed.

Harry knelt in front of Brian as the boy doubled over and put both hands on his shoulders, squeezing them to offer what little comfort he could until the worst of the muscle cramps passed.

They boy stilled, but never removed his head from between his knees as he quietly wept and continued murmuring slurred apologies. "Sorry, sorry. I'm sorry."

Finally coming down from the rush of adrenaline, Harry let out a long sigh. "It's not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Brian didn't look like he heard him and Harry growled at seeing a bright young boy reduced to such a state. "I really hope that dick is not your father."

That finally got a response.

Brian looked up and around until his gaze found the unconscious man cocooned in ropes and dangling from the ceiling like a giant spider's victim and flinched, his chair sliding back a few inches, grinding harshly along the wooden floor.

"He... he..." Brian took a deep breath and swallowed. "He came to our house and attacked dad out of nowhere. And then he drank something and... bubbled until he looked like him. That's when he..." He faltered.

"That's when he cast the Imperius on you," Harry finished for him. Brian nodded his head a fraction of an inch before shuddering in disgust and glueing his eyes to the floor again. A little awkwardly Harry patted his knee.

"The good thing about polyjuice is that it's impossible to take the appearance of a dead person, so your father is alive."

"But I don't know where!" Brian wailed. "He disappeared with dad somewhere before taking me here."

Harry narrowed his eyes before standing up in one swift movement. "Well then, let's find out."

A quick _Finite_ had the man unstuck and falling. Not feeling generous Harry let him bounce on the floor once before levitating him and sticking him to the wall, his feet inches from the ground.

"_Enner-_" He stopped himself mid-cast, tilting his head. Though it galled him to admit it, maybe a Death Eater _could_ teach him something. "_Accio wands! Accio portkeys! Accio potions!_"

No less than five vials came zooming through the air, as well as an innocuous looking silver button that Harry hastily sidestepped before it hit him.

Harry's eyes glinted. "_Ennervate!_"

The man groaned groggily as he woke before starting to struggle as he realised his predicament.

"What is your name?" Harry barked harshly.

The man stilled and furrowed his brow in confusion, looking a little frightened. "I'm Mortimer Henderson. Where am I? Release me at once!"

"Dad?" Brian asked desperately, sluggishly rising to his feet. Harry put a hand on his chest to stop him coming closer.

"Ask him something only your dad would know," he said, never taking his eyes off the man stuck to the wall.

"Um... What's missing from the shed that mum won't let you buy?"

The man looked incredulous for a second before violently bucking against his restraints. "I can't remember!"

Harry snorted. "Yeah. Not your dad, kid. Don't worry though. He'll tell us where the real Mortimer Henderson is."

"I will tell you nothing!" The Death Eater spat disdainfully, giving up on his charade.

"Oh no!" Harry mocked. "What are we going to do? If only we had some _truth serum_."

To his surprise the Death Eater cackled. "I drank the antidote before you came here, moron. Not giving the game away by drinking from the same jug of juice and all that."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. You'd best let me go now or you'll never see daddy again."

Harry scratched his head, deep in thought and completely ignoring the impotent ramblings of a caught Death Eater.

How to make the bastard talk?

It came as a surprise that his mind started going over his knowledge of Divination for possible solutions. His faith in the branch of magic truly had shot up with leaps and bounds. Maybe that vision he'd been wondering about would even have predicted... this...

He smacked his forehead in irritation.

A serpent, symbolising poison. A goat, known for the stones formed in its stomach that counteracted them. Sure, it was obvious now, but there was no way he could have known ahead of time. What use was an uninterpretable prediction?

Maybe it was more versatile than that?

He pursed his lips. "Brian, are you any good at potions?"

"Not really," the boy said softly. "Professor Snape and I don't really get along-"

Harry raised his hand. "Say no more." His eyes zeroed in on the Death Eater's face, searching for any kind of hint. "I'm just wondering if a bezoar works on poisons only or if it neutralises other potions too."

There! Was that a twitch?

"_Accio bezoar!"_ he called out.

Someone out there must be getting pretty annoyed by now, he pondered absently as the third stone of its kind came zooming through the window in a fifteen minute interval. Bezoars weren't the cheapest objects in existence and so far someone had lost three of them.

The Death Eater resisted swallowing and Harry absently petrified him before jamming the stone down his gullet. "He's fighting it, so that's a good sign. Let's give it a few minutes to work and we'll get your father back."

Brian sunk back in his chair, looking mostly despondent but a little more hopeful at Harry's confidence that everything would be all right.

"Are you really the new Divination teacher?" he asked softly with a little incredulity.

Harry blinked. Brian was used to Trelawney and compared to her he was probably not what his new students would be expecting.

Trying to lift the boy's mood he mock-preened. "What? Don't I look the part?"

"Well..." Brian trailed of delicately.

Harry mentally flinched as he realised that he was making an impression on the boy. One of his students. Oh Merlin, was he supposed to be a role-model?

"Um, this is one of those 'do as I say, not as I do' things, all right?" he said awkwardly. "Remember, breaking the law is wrong."

He turned away from Brian and shot a vomiting hex at the Death Eater who promptly threw up. Harry was forced to cancel the petrifaction too as he almost choked to death on his own bile.

A puddle of putrid half-digested food splashed on the floor – though a little dribbled down his robes – and the bezoar landed in the middle, sending spatters everywhere.

"Ew," Harry drawled, quickly vanishing the disgusting mess.

"Now," he said, smiling maliciously as he approached with a goblet full of tainted pumpkin juice, "let's get some answers."

The Death Eater's name was Malculum Locutio – of the Noble house of Locutio, at which Harry rolled his eyes – and Brian's father would be all right. Locutio had simply left him in an out of the way place, unconscious but otherwise unharmed. Both Harry and Brian let out simultaneous breaths of relief at that.

"What does Voldemort want with me?" Harry asked finally, on edge. The notion that the Dark Lord knew of him was finally sinking in.

"He's curious," Locutio bit out.

"Why?"

Locutio grimaced, but the potion forced him to answer. "The prophecy makes him truly invincible – beyond the power he already held – but Dumbledore summoned you, an expert."

Harry let out a weary sigh. "What were your orders?"

"To find out more and kill you."

Fabulous. "And what will he do, now that you've failed?"

Locutio smirked maliciously and didn't even try to stop himself from answering, "Send someone else."

Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "How did he even find out?"

"I don't know," Locutio said gleefully before his smile slackened as the potion ran its course and the final component kicked in.

"Wonderful," Harry muttered distractedly, sinking down in a chair.

Voldemort had found out about him and had decided to kill him as a precaution. It was stunningly similar to the circumstances that ended up killing his parents

How, in Merlin's name, did he get into these things?

There were a few silver linings though. First, Voldemort wasn't obsessed with him. He was merely cautious and lashing out, like swatting at a fly that zoomed irritatingly at the edge of his peripheral vision. Secondly, galling though it was, it wasn't Harry Potter that had gotten all this stunningly familiar attention; it was Harry White.

His fake identity was holding up and with every major party now aware of him that was a very good thing. Even if people ended up reacting to him quite the same despite it.

In all honesty he should have been expecting this. He'd been treating this world like a new beginning, trying to ignore the madness that brought him here or the conflicts that were raging lest he go stark raving mad. But even if he didn't seek it out, the conflict was drawing him in.

But if the war was like chess, he would not be a pawn.

Coming to a decision Harry rose to his feet, taking out his wand once more.

"I'm thinking Madam Bones will have many questions for you," he said gravely.

Locutio didn't respond, the paralytic poison leeching out any and all control he had over his muscles.

"Ah, bugger," Harry said when he realised the man was not in any state to answer questions.

"Can we... Can we go get my dad now?" Brian asked hesitantly.

"Sure, kid," Harry said distractedly. "Just have to do one quick thing first."

For the fourth time today he focussed on the idea of a small grey stone zooming into the room and called out, "_Accio bezoar!_"

There was a commotion outside and suddenly the door exploded inwards, splinters flying everywhere. Harry instinctively cast a shield charm to protect himself and pushed Brian behind him and to the ground. Two fit wizards in bright burgundy robes rushed inside, wands drawn and pointed at the pair of them.

"Aurors!" the older one barked.

"Put up your hands!" screamed the other, looking very young, like he had just graduated Hogwarts.

The fourth bezoar of the day came zooming in through the broken window and Harry reflexively caught it as he spread his hands to clearly show the trigger-happy wizards he was not a threat.

"Caught red-handed!" the older one said with satisfaction.

The other plucked the wand from Harry's hand, crowing, "You're coming with us, thief!"

Harry ground his teeth as they broke out the handcuffs. "You should probably also do something about the Death Eater stuck to the wall before he dies of poisoning." He wiggled the hand holding the 'evidence of his crime'. "You know, with a bezoar?"

The Senior Auror scowled. "Stevens, add torture and attempted murder to the charges."

"Yes sir!" his Junior partner said eagerly.

Harry just sighed in exasperation.

* * *

**A/N:** Chapter 10 already! Let's celebrate that by showing the one party that hasn't had any time in the limelight until now. What, Voldemort? Nah, I'm talking about Filch and Mrs. Norris.

Everyone agrees that canon Death Eaters are bad. Fanfiction, however, often reduces that to 'every Death Eater is a murderous lunatic' with the bad habit of torturing on a whim. Some fics do humanise them, explore their cause, show why they do what they do. It's very hard to get around the torture though.

Torture is a dark subject that I don't like to dwell on and Rowling has given us authors a very convenient out: the Cruciatus Curse. It's hell, painful is an understatement and it's wrong, but it's also sufficiently abstract that it's easy to write. And thus, to emphasize how evil they are, Death Eaters in fanfiction torture by yelling Crucio at the top of their lungs, and that's mostly it.

Malculum Locutio as a Death Eater, however, is an intelligent human being – despite being a sadist bigot – and dangerously genre-savvy to boot. Loyal to the Dark Lord, he follows orders, but that does not prevent him from choosing targets he has a very human grudge against, such as his daughter's first potential boyfriend. An extreme version of 'scaring the suitor', if you will. Corrupted as he is, he is not averse to torture but his approach is very different.

Honestly, I can think of few things worse than reducing a child to a quivering mess by talking him to the point of suicide, only to deny him control over his own actions and force a slow and painful death on him instead. Forcibly spoken truth. A malicious implement of torture.

Excuse me while I reach for enormous amount of chocolate and ice cream and dig into storage for my security blanket. Brrrr. Bad muse.

So yes. Death Eaters are humans too and can be dangerously competent. Fortunately Harry kicks ass due to not a little luck, bolstered with a bit of skill.

Recommendation of the week: Stages of Hope by kayly silverstorm. I thought it fitting to recommend something with darker tones after a chapter such as this. It's a very moving dimensional travel tale, though.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	11. Your hero is corrupting allies?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Excerpt from Chapter 10**

"You should probably also do something about the Death Eater stuck to the wall before he dies of poisoning." Harry wiggled the hand holding the 'evidence of his crime'. "You know, with a bezoar?"

The Senior Auror scowled. "Stevens, add torture and attempted murder to the charges."

"Yes sir!" his Junior partner said eagerly.

Harry just sighed in exasperation.

* * *

**Chapter 11 – Your hero is corrupting allies?**

Faced with a bleeding man bound in ropes showing signs of recent vomiting and a traumatised teenager with an obvious familial resemblance the Aurors did not believe Harry – the only person in the room with his wand out and exuding an aura of danger on top of the obvious scars – when he claimed to be innocent of any wrongdoing.

The younger Auror produced a shrunken set of old-fashioned irons from his pocket that clattered to the floor with a heavy thump as soon as he dispelled the charms on them. With both wrists and ankles bound Harry was pushed down in a chair in the corner, far away from his would-be victims.

He made sure to exaggeratedly cooperate so as not to make things worse. With a witness in Brian present – even if the traumatised boy was holding his tongue right now – he was quite sure this mess would resolve itself eventually. In the mean time he would observe.

Auror Thompson was in his forties and clearly the leader and more experienced of the pair. His brown eyes flitted over the room, searching for threats and his short black hair was already sprinkled with grey. Together with the stress lines on his forehead he had the gritty look of someone who had survived more than one sticky situation, though he was a ways removed from the damaged paranoid visage that Moody showed.

Hit-Wizard In Training Stevens, on the other hand, was a kid. His robes were pristine, shining as if they were brand new, his big blue eyes shone with innocence under his short blonde curls and he was practically bouncing around the room in glee at catching a criminal. Honestly, Harry thought law enforcement officers had to train longer before they were released on an unsuspecting populace than this kid had been out of Hogwarts.

Currently, the boy was pacing back and forth in front of Harry, trying to intimidate him by shooting dark looks. It would be much more intimidating if he didn't have to stop himself from skipping in glee every third step.

"Stevens," Thompson said in a long-suffering tone, "isn't there something you should you be doing?"

"Objective one, securing the hostile, sir!" the kid rattled off as if reading from a manual.

Thompson sighed. "And now that you've done that..."

Stevens furrowed his brow as if thinking real hard before jolting as he reached an epiphany. "Oh! Check on any wounded that may be in the area, sir."

It took another moment for the words to sink in before he gasped dramatically and sprinted to the injured man stuck to the wall. "Don't worry, sir. We'll have you down in a moment."

"He's a Death Eater," Harry reminded the pair. "Be careful."

Thompson raised an eyebrow. "Check his arms."

Stevens obediently rolled up both sleeves. "There's no Dark Mark here, sir."

As if on queue the skin started bubbling like a thick soup reaching the boiling point. In half a minute the immobile portly man's features flowed like wax until they settled as a lanky dark-haired man of roughly the same age with aristocratic features.

Stevens let out a high-pitched squeak and stumbled backwards at this sudden turn of events. "What have you done to him?"

"That would be the polyjuice wearing off," Harry responded dryly. "Check his arm again."

Stevens nervously looked at Thompson for advice, who narrowed his eyes and gave him a brisk nod. With much less enthusiasm the boy – all right, very young man – raised up the left sleeve again. Lo and behold, Locutio's inner forearm was adorned with a tattoo of a human skull choking on a snake in such thick black lines that it resembled a brand.

The young hit-wizard scrambled backwards, wand pointing at the newly discovered criminal and there was a beat of silence as both officers took in the changed circumstances, broken only by the shallow wheezing of the bound Death Eater.

"He really is dying of poison, so could one of you shove that bezoar down his throat?" Harry said worriedly. "I'd rather not end up in Azkaban for killing the scum by accident."

Thankfully the pair followed his suggestions and Harry breathed markedly easier as the tension broke and they started treating him as a witness instead of a suspect. They even released the restraints, for which Harry's tender wrists were very grateful. He added another tally to his collection of scrapes and bruises as he told his side of the story to the pair of alertly listening officers.

"You used Legilimency on the kid?" Thompson asked, frowning.

Harry shrugged at the same time that Stevens asked, "What's Legilimency?"

"A branch of the Mind Arts," Harry answered before turning to Thompson, "and no. It wasn't anything quite as clear-cut as that. I've never practised Legilimency before so I improvised. Mostly I just flooded Brian with Mind Arts magic praying for the best."

Thompson raised an eyebrow. "You do know that's illegal without a licence?" Stevens hands eagerly reached for the manacles again.

"I know using Legilimency is illegal without a licence, but I'll repeat myself, that wasn't Legilimency. Besides, aren't there exceptions for self-defence?"

"If the boy had been the one attacking you, sure. That wasn't the case, though. And I'll leave the finer details for the barristers to bicker over, but you just confessed to using hostile Mind Arts on a minor."

Stevens stood, wielding the iron chains eagerly and Harry growled, tensing. Both were stopped in their tracks by Thompson raising his hand in a sudden swift movement radiating authority. "I sympathise and we will not be arresting you right now" - he shot an unimpressed look at his younger colleague - "but I'm going to have to kick this up the chain and I guarantee you will be hearing about it later."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to restrain his frustrations. Another problem on top of the ones he already had. Still, it was not an immediate one so he could figure out something later.

"Brian," he said instead, breaking the heavy silence. The boy jumped in his seat in the corner where he had been trying to become one with the wall, not making a move and trying not to draw attention to himself. "The Aurors are already looking for your dad and I'm sure they'll find him soon. Do you want to call your mum in the mean time?"

The boy's eyes filled with tears and he nodded emphatically without speaking a word. Harry stood and reached out a hand towards him. "Come on then, let's go steal Rosie's Floo powder."

He turned to both officers. "I take it we're free to go?"

Stevens again looked quite ready to object but Thompson just nodded solemnly. "More people will want to ask you questions later but you're good for now."

Hand in hand Harry led the younger boy out the door and into the tavern itself, shooting him worried looks all the while. He looked younger than ever, lost and wounded like a rabbit only just having escaped a predator, but not quite convinced he wasn't dead yet.

"It'll be all right," he murmured softly. "You'll see."

The boy didn't say a word, but did clasp his hand tighter in response. Harry squeezed back.

* * *

It took a little while for the Floo to spit out Brian's mum, but not a second later he was in her arms, crying his heart out. As succinctly as possible Harry whispered to her what had happened before leaving the woman alone to comfort her distraught son.

He watched the pair for a moment, wanting to say something but not sure that there was anything _to_ say to soothe away the hurt and grief. Nothing, except maybe there was something the boy needed to hear.

"Thank you for saving my life, Brian," he said quietly. "Without you there I would most certainly have died. So thank you."

The boy didn't respond, but his mother's eyes warmed and she nodded at him in thanks. Harry deemed it enough and turned to leave the pair alone. There was nothing left for him to do here.

Making for the exit he was stopped by Amanda who practically flew out of the booth as soon as he passed by and she saw him. She was wearing robes – the first time he had seen her in traditional wizarding wear and looked highly upset.

"Harry!? Are you all right?" She gripped his shoulders with both arms and her eyes roved worriedly over every inch of his body.

"I'm fine," Harry murmured, letting her confirm it for herself. "Really would like to get out of this place though."

"Oh thank god," she said before drawing him in for a fierce hug with more power behind it than he had expected. "I'll walk with you."

Together they made it outside and ambled along the main street, away from Hogwarts until they reached the end of the village apart from the Shrieking Shack where there were no people to be seen. Both were silent, Harry lost in thought and Amanda shooting him worried looks until she could no longer contain herself.

"Are you really all right? What happened?"

Harry let out a pent-up breath. "A Death Eater under polyjuice took me by surprise and drugged me. Apparently Voldemort found out about the summoning and he's curious about me."

"How did you get away?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Divination."

Amanda raised both eyebrows and shot him a pointed look.

It was enough to make him smile, if faintly. "It's true. A vision of a goat and a snake I had a while ago finally made sense and I used a bastardised version of the Mind Arts to have someone there summon a bezoar. After that he sucked at duelling and I took him out under a minute."

She clung to his arm as he retold the story. "Merlin, I heard a rumour that the new Divination Professor should be teaching Defense instead because he was duelling Death Eaters in Hogsmeade."

"The Ministry rumour mill is that fast?" Harry asked, before adding, "And that inaccurate?"

Amanda snorted. "Aurors yelling orders at each other, I expect."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I swear I'm almost more annoyed at the two that showed up than about being attacked by one of Voldemort's flunkies. It's like a bad joke. 'Two Aurors and a Death Eater walk into a bar.' The punchline? 'They both attack the same innocent bystander.'"

"Stun them all and ask questions later," she mumured and Harry nodded in agreement. Suddenly she flung her arms around him and molded her body to his. "I was worried. You're not a fighter."

She took a step back and softly punched him in the chest. "No more fighting Death Eaters."

Harry grasped her arm before she could hit him a second time and yanked her body flush to his again. Arching her back so she could look him in the eye she quirked an eyebrow, a little of her playfulness reasserting itself now that most of her worry was allayed.

Instead of answering Harry bent forward and kissed her. For a moment there was nothing but her soft lips barely touching his and then she yanked her arm free, flung it around his neck and practically climbed up his body as she tried to inhale him with a passion.

She was all soft curves and eager sensuality Harry responded in kind as a warm glow built in his chest like a curtain being withdrawn revealing the sun from where it had been hiding.

The sound of Moody's gravelly voice caused them to jump apart like he had doused them in ice water. Their eyes darted every which way and Harry instinctively went for his wand, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Instead, floating ten feet away was a ghostly hedgehog Patronus, defensively curled into a ball so that its pointy spines were sticking out in every direction and Harry couldn't see which way it was facing.

"Word around the office is White has been in a scuffle with some Death Eaters in the Three Broomsticks. I don't care what you're doing Tonks; suit up and find out what happened."

Sound fell out of the world as Harry's brain ground to a halt. Of course the Order couldn't leave him alone if it involved Death Eaters, but there was only one reason a Patronus meant for Tonks would show up next to him. Someone was spying on him.

Wand already out, he was barking spells in an instant. "_Accio __i__nvisibility cloak! Homenum Revelio!_"

No cloaks came flying at him and the wash of magic that followed identified Amanda as the only human being in the vicinity.

Harry frowned. Where was Tonks? Had she realised she was caught and Disapparated? Used an emergency portkey? Clearly she'd gotten away if there wasn't anyone here but the two... of... them...

Ice cold fingers clawed their way up his spine as a horrifying thought took hold of his heart and squeezed.

Slowly, ever so slowly he turned around, hoping beyond hope that his fears were misplaced, but Amanda looked at him, biting her lower lip, sporting a pained and guilty expression on her face.

She winced and then her face wasn't her face any longer as it shifted and changed, her chin jutting a little more and her cheekbones rising into a heart-shaped face even as her hair shortened from long auburn curls to a shorter tomboy mousy brown.

"Tonks?" he whispered so softly it was barely audible.

Wide-eyed, she worried lower lip anxiously and his eyes zeroed in on that gesture, as if it was the only important sight in the world.

An image crossed his mind, of her biting her lip as she shot coy looks at him in the Three Broomsticks, as she shot the same looks at Remus at the Burrow. Another followed, of Remus and Tonks at Hogwarts – she worrying her lower lip – just before they would be pale still corpses laying in the battle-scarred Great Hall. He saw her with a rosy glow on her cheeks, long sweaty locks of auburn arrayed like a halo on his sheets as she moaned below him. And he saw a face just like hers but tiny, as Teddy played with his little metamorphmagus face and played with his lips like they were caterpillars independently travelling his chin.

Death and Lovers the Tarot cards had spelled out and he had promptly slept with a woman whose corpse he'd helped put into the ground. _A narcissistic necropheliac,_ Cassandra had jokingly called him and he'd promptly made love to the mother of his godson; a godson who in all likelihood would now never be born.

With that last thought the world rushed back into focus and Harry broke his stare as he dropped to his knees and threw up until everything he'd eaten that day formed a puddle of bile by the side of the road. He found he could not look away from it even if the acrid stench repulsed him, for he had never felt so unclean as he did then.

"I've gotten a lot of reactions to guys sleeping with a metamorphmagus, you know, but I've got to say that this one one hurts a little," Tonks said hesitantly from a few feet away, trying and failing to be funny.

Harry's skin broke out in goosebumps. She had no right to try and brush off a betrayal such as this, to pretend she hadn't spent weeks lying to his face and spying on him for the Order. It stoked a fire of potential explosive proportions, but as if there was no oxygen to feed it his anger stayed dead as his mind struggled with thoughts of the one precious life that was his to protect; the life that was no more and now would never be.

"Why aren't you with Remus?" he asked in a dead tone, not looking away from the chunks of half-digested food and bile a foot away from his face.

"I'm sorry?" she said confused.

"You're supposed to be with Remus," he spoke, brow furrowed in confusion as if everything in the world had stopped making sense. "You shouldn't... with me. You and him... and then Teddy. It's not... You're supposed to be with Remus."

"I chased him for a long time, until he made it clear he was not that much different from everybody else like I had hoped." She sounded wary and weary. "I thought Teddy was your godson?"

The realisation that she of all people didn't know who Teddy was, the reminder that she was not the friend that he remembered acted like a bellows blowing air into the furnace of his stifled anger and Harry's vision went red as he exploded into motion, springing to his feet and raising his wand to curse the bitch.

Tonks was an Auror, though, a member of the elite dark wizard catching force and his wand was in her hand before he'd cast a single spell. Instead of following that up with a litany of curses, however, she hesitated and lowered her wand, her hair wilting on her head as she looked at him, heartbroken.

"You goddamn traitorous bitch!"

She shrunk back as if he'd struck her. "I'm sorry," she said miserably.

"You're sorry? _You're sorry!?_ I don't... Do you even..." Beyond words, Harry felt like ranting and raving, but nothing felt strong enough to verbalise the absolute loathing that he felt. Without the ability to curse her it made him feel impotent and that only made him angrier.

"I promise I didn't tell them anything but the basics," she rushed out when he sputtered.

Lost in fury, for a moment he simply didn't understand the words. Tell who? Tell what? But his reasoning hadn't left him completely and he quickly realised she was talking about her spying for the Order.

As if he cared about that right now.

He knew he should though and the fact that he didn't care about something that important made him realise he was teetering on the edge of a cliff. It allowed him enough self-control to turn away and start taking deep, deep breaths. Heaving like a racehorse Harry stared at Hogwarts in the distance, wondering if a sudden meteor strike would not improve this world immensely.

"I'm sorry," Tonks repeated herself in a small voice.

Harry wanted to scream and curse her, but when had getting angry ever solved anything for him? She didn't even know why he was furious with her, though the reasons she imagined were valid enough. So instead of following his instincts, he pushed the anger down as best he could and, staring blankly in the distance, growled from between clenched teeth. "Talk."

She sighed a long, drawn out breath of pent up frustration, misery and self-loathing. "After the meeting where you almost killed Dumbledore and stole Moody's eye people weren't feeling really charitable towards you. Mad-eye especially was insistent we keep tabs on you, but with Dumbledore's promise that the Order would stay out of your way that was difficult. So he drew a few of us aside and told me to 'use my talents and get us some intel.' Told me to 'use whatever it took.'"

Her voice turned bitter. "I refused, of course. I'm not some sex toy for them to throw at close-mouthed suspects."

Harry scoffed derisively. "Oh no, clearly you're anything but that."

"What?" she said with a little more fire. "I am not some hooker. I dated you because I wanted to, because I thought you were a genuinely nice and fun bloke despite having been dealt a bad hand."

"Just as you are a nice and fun-loving minx, despite the the lying and the spying and following orders to shack up with me in the first place," he retorted, voice laced with venom.

She deflated. "I swear to you, I didn't tell them anything beyond the basics and beyond my name and face I didn't once lie to you."

She sounded so very sincere and for a moment Harry considered the notion before he shook his head and chuckled without a hint of humour. "Even if that were true, it doesn't matter. Do you know why?" The question was asked calmly, but it was laced with clearly suppressed anger.

It made her pause, as if she realised nothing good could come of answering, but not knowing what else to do. "Why?" she asked reluctantly.

Harry whirled around to face her and screamed, "Because you're one of the arseholes that tore me from home and dumped me in this hell before any of that even became a problem!"

"I'm sorry," she said for the third time, shoulders slumping.

Suddenly Harry felt so very tired. He'd ranted and raved and begged and pleaded but there was just no reasoning with these people. "Yeah, well, you should have thought of that before you dragged innocent people from their homes and into your war."

As if his anger had to go somewhere when it found no purchase in his thoughts she narrowed her eyes at him and her voice gained a sharp edge.

"Hey!" she snapped. "It's not like we thought, 'ooh, there's not enough people around being shat on, let's import and make it really exotic.' We had a damn good reason for doing what we did, even if it wasn't particularly nice to you."

"And yet," Harry said bitingly, "I have not heard one word that justifies kidnapping, torturing and disfiguring me."

"Because you wouldn't let us explain!" she yelled. "Every time we've come face to face you've been screaming abuse at us, even going so far as to attack Dumbledore and Mad-eye before demanding we leave you alone."

"Oh?" he said dangerously. "I distinctly recall being drugged and interrogated while you all discussed how fortunate it was that I was here to tell you how our Dark Lord died."

She winced. "Yeah, that wasn't our finest moment."

Harry stared at her. "No. No, it wasn't. And yet since then you've not really gotten better."

"I feel like a broken record repeating myself, but I'm sorry. It's just..." She sighed. "You've heard of Iris Potter, right?"

"I don't think there's been a paper without her name in it since I got here," he said sarcastically. He held back the thought that hardly a day had gone by that they hadn't written each other either.

"Exactly. So you've read about how she's the Chosen One, fated to face the Dark Lord since before she was even born?"

"Of course. What's your point?"

"Yeah, well, what everyone seems to be forgetting is that she's a fifteen, sorry, sixteen year old girl who doesn't quite reach five foot in heels and weighs maybe seventy pounds soaking wet. Laying the responsibility of vanquishing a Dark Lord on her shoulders is a damn heavy burden."

"And what has that got to do with me?"

"Everything!" Tonks burst out, her voice filled with passion. "Though we tried to keep the prophecy from You-Know-Who's claws, once we failed and learned what it said we tried to get around it, tried to make it apply to another."

"So even the Order hasn't got faith in her." Harry's voice was filled with scorn.

"Shut your trap. That girl will fight with everything she has and if she gets even the flimsiest of chances she will take the bastard out. The point is that she shouldn't have to."

At this Harry stayed silent, because those were his thoughts exactly; those had always been his thoughts, but aside from his friends back home nobody had every spoken them aloud. Definitely not in this world as they pertained to his counterpart.

"So we sought a way around it, but once a prophecy is spoken nobody can take a Chosen's place. There's not a single person on the planet that can take the burden from her shoulders. That is when Dumbledore mentioned dimensional travel." She closed her eyes. "It wasn't fair and it wasn't even right, but if nobody from our world could take the place of an innocent, maybe someone from another world could."

"So to save a friend you would damn a stranger," he said softly.

"No!" she objected vehemently. "Well yes, but there's an important difference you're forgetting. The ritual would not just summon some random person; we could set standards! Instead of forcing an innocent fifteen year old girl to face a Dark Lord, we could ask for someone not quite so disadvantaged, someone with training and experience, someone who would be prepared and not so overwhelmed. We'd take the burden from an unprepared innocent and leave it with someone capable of coping!"

Harry shook his head and looked down. "And so you shook the tree of worlds, hoping to displace a hero, but not caring how many branches he hit on the way down," he muttered softly.

Her hair was shifting colours once again and it tinted a pale yellow that highlit her unease. "You weren't supposed to be hurt that badly. You were supposed to be this great hero who could one-two punch the Dark Lord before we did everything we could to make it up to you." She stopped there, but Harry finished the thought for her.

"And yet you got me."

"That's not what I meant."

"But that doesn't make it untrue."

She winced and was silent for a little while. "I think that's why we behaved so badly when we first met face to face. We were all desperately hoping we hadn't just kidnapped yet another innocent in our efforts to protect the first."

"You were always going to be kidnapping an innocent. Do you even hear yourself? I wasn't supposed to be hurt that badly, but I was always supposed to be hurt. And if I had these skills you were hoping for, would that have made the kidnapping okay?" What would he have thought, if _his_ Order had gone this route to aid him?

He shook his head in disgust. "What happened to doing everything you could to make it up to me? I was threatened with the damn Imperius Curse, had to fight for money to buy clothes and apparently had a spy foisted on me pretending to be my girlfriend."

"I swear to Merlin I did not date you to spy on you."

Harry shot her an incredulous look. "So, what? You just accidentally put on the wrong face when you sat down next to me in the Three Broomsticks?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You've seen me flirt. You've seen me seductive. Did I act like that when we first met?"

Harry frowned. "No. Actually, you were kind of angry."

She scoffed. "You're damn right I was angry. Mad-eye had just ordered me to play hooker and nobody so much as objected to the plan."

Harry thought back to that very strange first meeting where he'd almost burned Rosie's face of gulping firewhiskey. "Didn't you mention a boyfriend, then?"

"Like you said, I was chasing Remus, but he actually encouraged me to go through with the hooker charade. Needless to say that altered my opinion of him and I dumped him on the spot."

Harry winced. He honestly couldn't imagine the calm and decent werewolf saying something like that. What had gotten into him? Did he think so little of himself that he would prefer Tonks to be with the violent Dumbledore-strangling stranger he had helped abduct rather than a werewolf like himself? If that was the case he had been lying to Teddy when he told stories about his awesome dad.

"Anyway, Mad-eye pulled the I-am-your-boss-and-will-make-your-life-hell card so I had no choice but to come to the Three Broomsticks. I expected you to yell at me like you had all the other times I'd seen you and the whole op to fall flat, but you turned out to be fun to talk to and I ended up having a really good time." She smiled wistfully. "Still felt guilty though, so I didn't owl you for a repeat, but we kept running into each-other and you kept being a nice and fun guy with an adorable blush if embarrassed, yet not afraid to turn the tables on me."

"Yeah well, I really needed a friend." Harry's shoulders sagged as he realised that his only friendship here was a lie.

"At least I didn't trow up after sleeping with you," Tonks retorted. "Thanks for that."

Harry half-heartedly waved off the comment. "That wasn't about you."

"No..." she said, peering at him like a bird of prey eyeing a snack. "It was about Teddy."

Harry winced, feeling like a flustered Hagrid. He shouldn't have said that. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Not going to fly, pretty boy. I slept with you, I can tell when you're lying." She leaned in closer. "What does your godson have to do with me?"

Harry closed his eyes in pain at the thought that seeing the little tyke again was now forever beyond his reach.

"Oh," she said in a small voice, stunned as she realised what he was getting at. "Teddy is mine?"

Harry stayed silent, tensing, but didn't know how to sway her from the topic.

"And you thought that I should be with Remus, so... mine and his?"

Harry stilled and then nodded ever so slightly, eyes still closed.

"Huh."

Unceremoniously she flopped onto the grass and sat there looking absolutely stunned. Harry deflated, letting out a very long breath, feeling lost, confused and hurt and without any idea of what to do next. He ended up sitting down as well about ten feet away from the woman he had looked forward to seeing whom he now couldn't stand the sight of. He would have run, except she still held his wand.

"We must've been really good friends in your world to name you godfather to my son," she said softly after a few minutes.

"Better than here at least," he retorted bitterly.

She snorted. "No kidding." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I swear to you that I didn't set out to seduce you and that apart from my name I haven't lied to you."

"Sure," he said in a monotone. "Except that you did. Gained my trust. Learned my secrets. Spilled them to your friends too, no doubt."

"Nothing beyond the obvious."

Harry scoffed.

"I'm serious! I told them you were 18 years old, because you look so much older and they needed to know that. But I won't let them use me like some honey trap so I just said you were close-mouthed about the whole thing."

"I wish I could trust you on that, but I just don't," Harry said darkly and the pair fell in an uneasy silence, neither of them knowing what to say.

She was never one for uncomfortable silences or staying down for long, however, and it took only minutes before she shot him a hesitantly playful look. "You know, throwing up for sleeping with little old me was totally overreacting."

Harry grunted.

"I mean, sleeping with the mother of the child you're raising is kind of traditional, you know. I dare say it's even expected in most cases."

Despite himself his next grunt became a half snort. He couldn't help it. Irritated he made sure to scowl at her extra fiercely. Instead of cowering it made her radiate smugness.

"That wasn't the point," he said irritably. "Without you and Lupin together Teddy will never be born."

"True," she mused, "but then Remus is clearly not the man you remember because I would never have stayed with him if he behaved like that."

Harry sighed. "None of you are the people I remember. None of them would have kidnapped someone to make their lives easier."

"Not even if it was to save the life of an innocent child? Not even if Dumbledore proposed it and argued that it was the best thing for all involved?"

Harry gritted his teeth. If there had been a way for the Order to shift responsibility from the Boy-Who-Lived, would they have taken it? Had Voldemort gotten his hands on the prophecy like he did here, would they too have damned a stranger to help themselves?

"They were good people," he said instead.

"So are we," she whispered. "Good intentions all around. Welcome on the road to hell."

Irritated, Harry shook his head and climbed to his feet. "Can I have my wand back now?"

Tonks furrowed her brow in confusion before her eyes cleared. "Oh! Sure, here. Forgot I had it, really." She tossed the foot-long stick at him and tilted her head. "You're not going to curse me, are you?"

Harry sighed. "No. I'm just going to go. Away."

She bit her lower lip again. "What about..." She gestured between the pair of them. "You know?"

"Well I'm not sleeping with you again, that's for damn sure," Harry bit out.

"Oh," she said dejected, averting her eyes. "Are we still friends, though?"

He gritted his teeth, but stopped himself from snapping at her.

She was his only friend. A poor one, it turned out, even if the friendship came with benefits. He just couldn't see past the betrayal that soured his heart and poisoned his mind. He didn't know if he believed her about the assertions that she was her own person first and the Order's instrument second. All he wanted was to lash out, which would solve nothing.

"Maybe," he said as another thought seeped from one of the darker crevices in his mind.

Turnabout was fair play, wasn't it? Reaping what she'd sown, using her to spy on the Order was a kind of poetic justice. And if she turned out to be trustworthy in the end... well, she couldn't exactly fault him for doing as she had.

"I can't think clearly at the moment," he allowed. "Best not push beyond the breaking point until I have calmed down."

Tonks hummed gratefully and shot him a watery half-smile. "Thank you. Before you go, could you... could you tell me about my son?"

Harry let out a breath and closed his eyes before he sat down again across from her. Teddy. "Yeah. I can do that."

* * *

After leaving Tonks at the gate Harry walked Hogwarts' corridors, heading from the seventh floor to his living quarters in the Divination Tower, absently twirling a brown cotton pouch he had just picked up in his left hand.

His mood was pensive after the emotional roller coaster that had been his day. So much had happened and he felt battered and bruised after being assaulted from all sides.

The subject of Tonks was emotionally volatile but murky. Despite himself, he couldn't help but be a little moved by her impassioned arguments on behalf of his counterpart. It was hard to hate someone who sought to help another version of himself.

He climbed the awkward ladder to his questionably safe haven and slammed the trapdoor shut behind him. Tossing the pouch from hand to hand he looked around until he found what he was looking for and fetched the only remaining bottle of cooking sherry from where he had stored it next to Cassandra's portrait in a mocking tribute to her late descendant. It was a large one, with a base as wide as a saucer and completely filled with dark amber liquid. The seal on the top remained unbroken.

Placing it and the pouch on his desk it took him a few tries to conjure a jug large enough to contain the contents of the entire bottle. The cutting curse that sliced through the neck without breaking the seal looked like a first-year spell for all the effort it took him. Upending the remains of the bottle he drained the entire thing in the jug. Finally, he shot a second cutting curse at the body of the bottle, slicing the thing apart until it lay in three pieces on the desk.

His eyes glinted as he very carefully undid the knots in the pouch and levitated the tarnished diadem out of the cloth and into the remains of the base of the bottle. It was a tight fit – a little too tight, to be honest – but then again he wasn't all that concerned about keeping the thing in one piece. He tapped it once, murmuring the incantation to the Dissolusionment Charm turning it completely transparent.

Careful not to touch it with his bare skin he placed the second piece of the base back like a puzzle, completely enclosing the invisible diadem in glass like a demented version of a ship in a bottle.

"_Reparo_," he whispered, sealing it in, before carefully pouring the sherry back.

"I hope you drown, you son of a bitch."

Voldmort had made his opening move by attacking and no longer did Harry have a chance to remain on the sidelines. If he could have he would have destroyed this piece of the monster's soul in retaliation, but being found speaking Parseltongue near the Chamber of Secrets would fuel Dumbledore's paranoia like nothing else so that would have to wait until the corridors were crawling with students and his visit would not be quite so obvious.

Until then, keeping this thing safe in the most dishonourable fashion imaginable would have to suffice. It was a good start.

A final _Reparo_ restored the bottle to its former pristine appearance, only the fact that the liquid reached half an inch higher in the neck than it had betraying that anything about it had changed. Harry carefully placed it back next to the portrait and stepped back, finally letting out a tense breath.

That was one.

Now what to do about this latest action against him by the Order? His thoughts on that matter were not ambivalent at all. Instead he was filled with an ice cold clarity.

"Set a spy on me, will you?" he whispered as he paced.

He pursed his lips as he mulled over his options. An eye for an eye appealed to him. Tonks wasn't the only way to get information on the Order. In as close proximity as he was to Dumbledore and his flunkies there should be all kinds of opportunities to return the favour.

He may not have a staff reporting to him, a castle filled with portraits to eavesdrop or a horde of house-elves to obey his every whim, but then... he didn't need that.

"Tilly!"

The elf popped in without delay, carrying a sponge dripped in some kind of black ichor in his outstretched hand, holding it as far away from his body as he could, cringing back, clearly horrified at the idea of staining his pristine white pillowcase. His eyes did not waver from it for a second.

"Master Harry calls for Tilly?"

"Yes, Tilly. I have a bit of a problem, you see."

The black sludge on the sponge bubbled and moved, like a colony of ants dripped in motor oil and a single drop fell prey to gravity. Tilly shrieked in outrage and snapped his fingers, conjuring a second sponge that caught the drop before it could stain or possibly eat a hole in the carpet.

He glared at it fiercely. "Tilly knows about problems."

"I see..." Harry said hesitantly but couldn't quite contain his curiosity. "What is that?"

Tilly drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and sucking in air through his nostrils until his little green chest expanded as far as it could go with an expression of absolute outrage.

"Filth!" he spat as if that was the most vile imprecation in his vocabulary. "Grime and stains and unclean things."

Harry stared for a moment before wearily running his fingers through his hair.

"I don't want to know," he muttered. "I'll let you get back to cleaning Tilly, I just had a quick question."

He sat on his haunches, though well away from whatever magical sludge the elf was battling. Still, he made an effort to look the elf in the eye.

"I've been practising all sorts of Divining very hard, but I'm running into problems when reading tea leaves. You see, I don't feel like drinking gallons of the stuff so I came up with a workaround." His lips curved upwards in a smile filled with innocent guile. "Lots of other people in this castle drink tea. I was hoping that the elves could collect all the tea-cups with dregs in them and bring them to this room, putting them under stasis."

It took only a second of deliberation before the elf nodded happily. "We can do that, Master Harry."

"Fantastic! Can you leave a little note with each cup that says who drank the tea? And when and where?" His eyes glinted. "That would be a great help."

One ready-made spy-network coming right up.

* * *

**A/N:** And back again for chapter 11.

So... Amanda is Tonks. I put in little hints when I first introduced her, but someone noticed even then (cookies to you). Then I all but dropped an anvil of suspicion on her and here we have the dramatic reveal via ill-timed hedgehog Patronus. Lots of development there all around.

I think the spying via elf-collected teacups is a new one. I certainly don't recall seeing it before. It's fun to seek new ways to use Divination as an actual instrument instead of just comic relief.

I'd recommend something like I did the last few chapters, but nothing fitting in this little fanfiction niche springs to mind at the moment. Maybe next week.

Finally, I want to thank everyone who has read/followed/favorited/reviewed so far. The response has been insane. My hopes had been for the number of views of this story to eclipse the number of words eventually. Surprise, surprise, we're there already after only 10 chapters. What's left is me rewarding you for your dedication by finishing the story. So I will. I'm having great fun.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	12. Your hero pursues frivolous goals?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 12 – Your hero pursues frivolous goals?**

The office of the Head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority was of a moderate size but filled with mementos of a long life spent in service to the Ministry. Awards hung on plaques and sat on shelves, a large bookcase was filled to the brim with tomes of such similarity to each other that they could hardly be anything but volumes of the same set – probably law books. They businesslike atmosphere was offset by pictures of several generations of the same family, the men, women and children smiling and waving happily from their frames. The defining aspect of the office, however, was a person; her position behind her antique oak desk looking natural as if the rest of the office had simply grown around her in time.

By any standard you would care to set Madam Griselda Marchbanks was ancient. She looked old enough to have been there when the tree that would become her antique desk was planted as a sapling, yet fierce enough to have been the one to cut it down to size herself. Most imposing was the authority she radiated, born of more than a century of overseeing the exams of unruly children who would take advantage of the slightest lapse in attention to cheat and make a mockery of her job.

Currently she was staring at Harry through narrowed eyes from under one imperiously raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean N.E.W.T. exams in Divination?"

Harry took a deep breath and tried not to fidget. He'd asked for this meeting for two very important reasons and he needed this woman on his side. "Exactly that, ma'am. Hogwarts invited students to continue Divination beyond O.W.L. level and several have already signed up. For the first time in decades there will be N.E.W.T. students in the course and I need to know what to teach them. The most straightforward way seemed to ask those who will be administering the tests."

Madam Marchbanks blinked and then pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hogwarts hasn't had such a class since Dumbledore was a student and I examined him myself. The Divination N.E.W.T. is completely unsuited for a classroom environment."

Harry frowned. "How so?"

"Because it's more of an aptitude test than anything else," she said, scrunching up her nose. "The N.E.W.T. grade is assigned based on how in touch a Seer is with his or her talent. There just aren't enough Seers to fill a class with and on top of that each of their talents is personal so there is no overarching curriculum."

"Such is the case nowadays, yes," Harry said carefully before unfolding his prepared argument, "but it wasn't always so. Divination is a vast field and before it was whittled down to just Divining at O.W.L. level there were many more skills taught and tested. Seers that spent the time cultivating their talents have always been awarded a N.E.W.T. for their efforts, but that wasn't always the only skill worthy of a passing grade." He withdrew a book from the satchel at his side and slid it across the desk to her. "I have spent a lot of time preparing for my new role as professor and it has been eye-opening, to say the least."

Hesitantly Madam Marchbanks opened _Opening the Inner Eye: An Introduction to Divination_ at the bookmark he had placed within and her eyes roved over the page.

The more she read, the more taken aback she looked until her frown of displeasure turned to one of worry bordering on disbelief. "Are you certain this is accurate instead of tripe written by a fraud looking to make a few quick galleons?"

Harry smiled faintly. "You are holding the assigned course material for the Divination elective for third year Hogwarts students in the early eighteenth century."

She stared at him long and hard before she pinched her lips and snatched a blank piece of parchment from a stack, scratching away with her quill before folding it closed and handing it to him.

"Take this to the parchment pit down the hall and then come back here," she snapped in no-nonsense tone.

Harry was on his feet and halfway out the door before he even registered he was blindly obeying the woman and by then it was too late to protest being given orders like a child. He shook his head and smiled faintly as he imagined Fudge in her office and what the woman could get him to do if only she used that tone of voice more often.

The records room was helpfully recognisable by an overly large sign hanging from the hallway ceiling. A busy-looking wizard with glasses and a goatee sat reading behind a counter as if guarding a dam meant to separate the cavern filled with parchment behind him from the outside world.

Harry tapped his knuckles on the solid wood, causing him to look up. "Excuse me. Madam Marchbanks sent me to the 'parchment pit'. I'm assuming that's here?"

The eye roll he made made the man look years younger. "What's the old biddy want now?"

Harry shrugged and handed over the note.

He unfolded it impatiently before blurting incredulously, "She wants all of them?"

Harry helpfully shrugged a second time. "Don't know what it says. She barked and I obeyed, really."

A snort was his response, followed by a head shake. "That's usually how it goes with her." He sighed. "Wait here while I go get the stuff."

He disappeared in the back only to emerge ten minutes later with a handful of parchment-coloured cubes in the palm of his hand that he handed over. "You tell her we're called 'Records', and that I was surprised we even had anything from before her time. I didn't know writing had been invented back then."

The inter-office banter helped to get rid of a little of the tension Harry still felt at being ordered around like an errant little boy by the formidable woman. If the people on this floor felt comfortable enough to tease her like that she must not be as frightening as she appeared.

He knocked a second time for propriety's sake but she irritably barked for him to stop wasting time and enter already. Harry took his seat across from her again and casually lobbed the parchment-coloured cubes onto the desk.

Madam Marchbanks didn't waste any time and cast a spell at one of them. Suddenly Harry's sight of her was obscured by a pile of parchment as tall as it was wide. He shifted his chair a little to the side so that he could at least see her as she efficiently started sifting through the pile.

"What crack did they make at my age this time?" she asked distractedly.

The corner of Harry's mouth tilted upward. She _did_ have a sense of humour. "I am to remind you they're called 'Records' and he was surprised to find anything from before your time as he didn't think writing would have been invented yet."

The eye roll that was her response looked very out of place on her otherwise dignified frame.

"Kids have no respect for their elders these days," she muttered. All the same Harry didn't get the impression that she really minded.

A comfortable silence fell, only broken by the sound of shifting papers until she found what she was searching for. Her gaze lingered on one of the parchments for a short while before she let out a breath and sagged back in her chair looking like someone had clubbed her over the head with a fish. "By Merlin and Morgana, you were right."

Harry blinked. "I'm glad to hear that. What was I right about, exactly?"

She gestured at the enormous stack of parchment and the four small cubes next to it that held the potential to revert to similar sized mounds. "These are all the Divination exams for the past few hundred years. And right now I am holding a written N.E.W.T. exam for Divination – one of which hasn't been held for more than a century – on the very topics that you hinted at.

"Score one for bureaucracy, I guess," Harry said doubtfully.

She eyed him up and down. "This is your first time teaching, isn't it?" Harry nodded, looking confused and she shot him an evil little smile. "You poor, poor boy."

"What?" Harry asked, taken aback, but she ignored him and instead pointed at the old exam she had filched from the pile.

"You were right; there obviously is potential for a N.E.W.T. level Divination class. However, seeing as it was discontinued at some point I'm going to have to retrace that decision before I can judge whether or not setting such a thing up again is feasible. Possibly ask around internationally to see what other Ministries are doing." She groaned softly. "And all that within a month too."

"Are you going to be able to manage?" Harry asked, concerned.

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment before nodding. "We don't need to decide on examination materials in that time. At the earliest your students would sit their N.E.W.T.s two years from now, correct?"

Harry nodded, before adding, "However, maybe I would want to sit my own N.E.W.T. beforehand. It would be awkward to have to sit it with my students."

She frowned. "You don't have a N.E.W.T. even though you're teaching the course?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not a Seer and you just said that it was more an award for time spent honing a personal talent anyway. Honestly, a N.E.W.T. grade is more because if I have the knowledge it seems like a shame not to get some official recognition for it. I may be Hogwarts' Divination professor, but with Dumbledore's recent hiring practices that doesn't mean as much as it used to. Plus, how am I to adequately prepare my students if I don't have first-hand knowledge of what they're facing?"

She pursed her lips again, but neither agreed, nor disagreed with him. "In either case, you have just made an awful lot of work for me if I am to have an answer for you within weeks. Was there anything else?"

Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair. It was now or never. "Yes, there was, actually. I wanted to ask about a Divination Permit."

The look of confusion she shot him was not encouraging, until he noticed she wasn't actually looking at him but rather staring in the distance, trying to remember something in the distant past. It took a moment – there was an awful lot of past to sort through, he thought with a giggle – but suddenly her eyes snapped to him. "It has been a long time since anyone has asked for a Divination Permit. Why would you..." she trailed off. "Ah, I see. Without a N.E.W.T. you need something to prove your credibility to your students."

That wasn't it at all, but if that explanation satisfied her who was he to complain. "Indeed."

"Still, I thought a Divination Permit was only granted to Seers and Prophets and the like as proof of their abilities? Are you a Prophet?" Harry shook his head. "Then how are you eligible for one?"

Harry smiled a small knowledgeable smile. "I've done a lot of reading on the subject – obviously – and the Divination Permit didn't always apply only to those with born Divination talents. Originally it signified a good practical grasp of the material, the ability to practise Divining on demand and deliver what was promised. A Divination Permit was a licence to publicly practice. It was to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, not just Seers from pretenders, but those knowledgeable on a broader spectrum. What's interesting is that those laws were never stricken from the books."

Madam Marchbanks blinked, opened her mouth as if to protest and then looked at the pile of ancient parchments that had proven a similar claim only minutes before and shut her mouth again. Instead she slowly heaved her ancient body out of her chair and, with aid of a sturdy cane, hobbled to the bookcase from which she removed a single volume.

The room was silent as she perused it and Harry had to make an effort not to let it show how important this was to him.

Because a Divination Permit was everything he said it was, but more. It had been called a Diviner's Permit long ago, when it was just a way for fortune tellers to distinguish themselves. At some point, however, all the other fields of Divination were folded under the same header and what was once proof of a minor skill now became a flat-out licence to practice Divination.

Every part of it, including the Mind Arts.

Having taken the warning of Auror Thompson to heart, Harry had sought out a way to avoid trouble for his use of borderline Legilimency during the Death Eater attack. Very aware of his rights in this world he couldn't afford to be charged with any kind of crime. Being allowed to do as he did by a Divination Permit seemed the most convenient solution. An actual Legilimency licence required stringent background checks he would undoubtedly fail due to his extra-dimensional background. A Divination Permit, however, was a convenient loophole, helped by the fact that pursuing such a permit was not at all out of place for a young, new, untested Divination professor just starting at a prestigious school.

Madam Marchbanks slowly set down the law book and looked at him unwaveringly for a long moment. "I can find no fault in your words. When I look – and I shall – will I find corroborating evidence in our records?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "You will."

She sighed. "Very well. In order to be issued a Divination Permit the applicant must prove beyond all doubt knowledge and talent in the field. Without a Seer's ability or record of a prophecy as is typical, what would you propose?"

Harry swallowed and met her eyes. "I want to do a Seeker's Soothsaying."

* * *

It took a lot of being yelled at and another dive into the parchment pit to prove that no, he wasn't insane and yes, this had been done before. In all fairness to Madam Marchbanks, inviting a Ministry official to your legally-grey ritual and demanding a reward for its successful completion was not a typical day at the office.

Without it, however, the Ministry might well end up extraditing him through the Veil – as Madam Bones once casually threatened – so Harry didn't back down and eventually the ancient woman caved. He left the Ministry with a spring in his step, having achieved all he came for and the future looking much brighter than before.

His good mood lasted until he reached the castle, at which point he practically moved into the Room of Requirement because now he had a little under three weeks to prepare. And while a Seeker's Soothsaying was probably the best way to get his hands on that much-needed Divination Permit, it was anything but risk-free.

Because a Seeker's Soothsaying was a Divination-based ritual. And rituals were Dangerous.

Frowned upon in general and outright outlawed in most cases, everyday wizards and witches went their whole lives without ever even witnessing one. Wand magic was versatile, powerful and above all safe. Practically everything was attainable through a flick of the wrist of a stir in the cauldron. For the everyday witch and wizard that was more than enough.

Rituals were versatile and powerful as well, but from a collection of thousands the Ministry recognised exactly two that were safe for the general populace to use as long as they didn't deviate from the instructions. The first was Blood Adoption, because Merlin forbid anybody get to interfere with propagating pureblood lines. The second was Familiar Bonding, because having a powerful familiar was a mark of status and while everyone would claim the bond formed naturally, giving up the chance to bind a phoenix or unicorn or dragon and show it off to all and sundry was not a chance the Wizengamot members were willing to take. Even _that_ would not have been enough to prevent banning the Familiar Bonding ritual, except that a botched execution inevitably rebounded on the animal instead of the caster and was thus deemed 'safe', for a certain definition of that term.

And make no mistake, rebounding was one of the major problems with rituals. It typically resulted in an incredible mess of blood and viscera.

If one ignored the dangers, however, rituals were incredibly versatile and fortunately even somewhat predictable _if one stuck to the script_. Sadly their great power came at a price. Rituals were all about Sacrifice, which by their very nature made them not wholly beneficial. Tinged with darkness. Perhaps most worryingly, terribly easy to corrupt.

Despite the drawbacks the Wizengamot had been unwilling to relinquish their heritage completely and had consequently hesitated in their decision to outlaw rituals outright. Ultimately, they had chosen the more murky path of setting bounds on the sacrifices they were powered by. Because for all the chanting and drawing and magical paraphernalia involved, rituals were always dependent on a sacrifice and it was here that the Seeker's Soothsaying fell in the lighter spectrum of the legal grey area that had Madam Marchbanks yell at him, yet not call for the Aurors.

First of all, it was a rather weak ritual and little gain had only a small price. The Seeker's Soothsaying's purpose was to focus several Divining readings on a single goal. If done correctly, they would build upon one another thereby moderately improving the result. It was nothing that couldn't be achieved through diligent practise, merely a shortcut. Rather fittingly, aside from needing a hefty amount of power, the major sacrifice was time. After performing the ritual, one couldn't repeat it for a number of months, enough to make up for the deficiency in knowledge rendering repetition of the ritual obsolete. Secondly, while the ritual would help one focus on a goal, the nature of that goal was rather limited. World peace was out of reach, as was long-term good fortune or even something as volatile as winning lottery numbers. Finally and most tellingly, the Wizengamot hadn't deemed it all that dangerous because it was a ritual centred around Divination and who took that seriously anyway?

That didn't change the fact that Harry would be completing a ritual and rituals were Dangerous. This one was well-documented and many had successfully completed it before, but that didn't change the nature of the beast. Merely copying the drawings from a book and simply following instructions was akin to having the blueprint of a gun and building a model from a nearby tree before filling it with explosive material and bullets and pulling the trigger. It might go right, but most likely his next area of study – if he retained the ability to read – would be prosthetics for the arms he had blown off.

Thus, the rest of August was spent studying rituals in general and the Seeker's Soothsaying in particular. Harry practised Ancient Greek to leave no doubt what the phrases should mean, what they really meant and their pronunciation; he drew the patterns again and again until his finger moved through the air in his sleep and he memorised the script until he could recite it backwards and forwards without even a hiccup. Most of the time, however, was spent practising Divining, because while the ritual would help the elements reinforce each other, if they were crap to begin with it would still get him nowhere.

Between eating, sleeping and making sure he would not blow himself up he had very little free time. Tonks owled him once, tentatively asking him to join her for lunch, but he ignored her, the hurt still too fresh and his intentions towards her still too unsure to commit to anything. His only contact was with Iris, who was still locked up at Privet Prison and as such spent her days writing long rambling letters that he made sure to answer with similarly sized responses.

When the Daily Prophet triumphantly announced the foiling of a dozen attacks and the capture of no less than thirty seven Death Eaters, however, Harry sat up and took notice.

In the photo of the press-conference where the successes were revealed the Minister veritably glowed as he presented the good news to a host of inquisitive reporters. It was Madam Bones' words, however, that had Harry's heart swell and think that maybe the country was not as bad off as it appeared.

"The DMLE has been able to foil a dozen attacks over the past month, saving hundreds of people from kidnapping, torture and death at the hands of these dangerous criminals. Each of them will stand trial as soon as the Ministry can accommodate them, facing years in Azkaban and putting a sizeable dent in You-Know-Who's forces. These successes serve as proof that the Aurors are more than up to the task of defending our country. We're not quite there yet, but you can bet the Dark Lord's getting worried."

The article was full of praise, even if they did lambaste the Ministry for keeping the population in suspense and not sharing their success earlier. Apparently that the first capture was made 30 days ago, the maximum period the DMLE could hold someone in a time of war without formally and publicly charging them or be forced to set them free. Madam Bones' time was up and while she would probably prefer not to mess with a good thing, the law required that she come clean.

It was a major coup and barring a few barbs at how Iris Potter was still sitting on her laurels the Ministry appeared to be doing something _and succeeding_ for the first time since Voldemort returned.

Which was why the blow hit twice as hard when Voldemort broke the lot of them out the next day.

Details were sketchy, but at one moment the DMLE holding cells were filled almost to capacity and the next they were empty, barring a mocking message from the Dark Lord, thanking the good Ministry workers for gathering all his followers in one place, making it easy for him to rescue them.

The despondent silence emanating from Ministry as they staggered from the blow sowed panic among the people, culminating in a riot in Diagon Alley where fear turned to violence as people desperately begged for someone to save them from the unstoppable monster.

Iris' next letter was noticeably less than cheerful as she was forced to confront the fact that people were literally fighting in the streets without needing Death Eater involvement and more and more of them demanded that she fulfil 'her duty'. Harry wrote back not to listen to those that didn't deserve her help and to remember that despite not being able to hold on to their captures the Aurors did save more than a hundred people. There was hope and nobody had the right to demand she deliver it personally. If these were wise people they would not be fighting in the streets in the first place.

Thus August passed rapidly until suddenly Harry woke up to the end of the month and he was out of time.

* * *

"So this is to be your classroom, hmm?" Madam Marchbanks asked, eyeing the large room on the second floor of the Divination Tower curiously.

Truly, it didn't look much like a classroom at the moment as all the furniture was stacked along the walls and the eye was immediately drawn to the middle of the otherwise empty room where an immense ritual pattern was carved into the stone floor.

"I know it doesn't look like much now, but in two days my students will be sitting here. Speaking of which..." He quickly summoned three chairs from the top of a stack and placed them in a triangle a good three feet away from the carefully carved pattern as to not mess it up. "Shall we go over the particulars?"

The ancient woman carefully lowered herself onto the seat, as did her colleague, Professor Tofty, a man who would by all rights be called elderly were he accompanied by anyone else.

"Please," he said, producing a clipboard and settling in to make notes. "We will of course act as examiners today, but as neither of us has actually seen this ritual in practice we'd like to know what you can tell us of what to expect."

Harry nodded quickly. "Of course. I'm assuming you've read the source material I sent?" Both nodded. "Excellent. Then you know the Seeker's Soothsaying ritual is basically a focus to have five different Divining elements address the same subject, thereby reinforcing one another." He waited for them to nod once more before turning to the ritual site behind him.

"The five small circles symmetrically positioned as if on the corners of a pentagon each contain the elements for a single Divining. In order, they are: Tarot cards for cartomancy, a bowl of sage to burn for pyromancy, an egg and a bowl of water for ovomancy, a cup of tea for tessomancy and finally a crystal ball. They are connected through a groove spiralling outward from where I will sit in the centre through each of the circles until the end there at the door, symbolising the journey I will be making based on the clues I will receive. The groove will be filled with a potion for magical conductivity held in this flask here and a chant in Ancient Greek will set the whole thing off."

Both examiners took notes and Marchbanks was the first to quiz him. "Why those five elements?"

Harry shrugged. "There's limited options to choose from and these are what I'm best at. I can hardly rely on dream interpretation as I can't fall asleep during the ritual. The same for bird omens as there aren't any wild ones indoors. And anything to do with an animal's entrails I would rather avoid."

"And what will you focussing on? After all, the Seeker's Soothsaying needs a goal."

Harry smiled faintly. "Yes, it's essentially a ritual treasure hunt, isn't it?" He took a deep breath. "My goal is to acquire a pensieve."

Four eyebrows shot up. "Explain."

"For beginning students a pensieve is a marvellous teaching tool as it allows them to pause and repeatedly view a vision and inspect it for detail that they would otherwise miss. Hogwarts isn't willing to cough up the Galleons to pay for one and I'm not rich enough to afford it. Pensieves are rare enough that I can't just find an affordable one any other way, but not so rare that it is beyond the bounds of the ritual."

Professor Tofty tilted his head. "What is the most important thing to keep in mind during the ritual?"

"Don't deviate from the script," Harry replied without hesitation. That was the one rule above all others that must be followed during any ritual. One broke it at one's own – often short-lived – peril.

"True, but not what I meant. The second-most important thing then?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering, "Myself acquiring the pensieve, my capabilities and my morals."

Marchbanks smiled, pleased. "Why?"

"Without a goal the ritual has no direction. Without my capabilities the ritual can offer no path I am capable of following. Without my morals the path the ritual offers will have no limitations."

Tofty joined her in smiling. "Why is the last important?"

"Because by their very nature rituals are amoral, neither good nor evil; they just are. The most expedient way to acquire a pensieve may be to find someone who owns one, kill them and steal the thing. The ritual cannot force me to do so, but I get only one chance for a path and if turn out not to be willing to follow it I will fail."

The pair of examiners eyed each other for a moment before Tofty commented, "I'm convinced he at least thinks he knows what he's doing."

Marchbanks snorted, a distinctly inelegant sound. "He had better, considering he was the one to propose this whole thing in the first place. If I wasn't convinced that he knows more on the subject than we do I wouldn't have accepted his proposal in the first place." She took a deep breath. "Very well. You may begin whenever you are ready. We will observe."

Harry gave them a brisk nod and waited for them to move over all the way to the far wall before settling down cross-legged in the centre of the spiral and picking up the stoppered flagon waiting for him there. He took a deep breath and then popped the cork.

"Wish me luck," he said in the ominous silence and then, not waiting for them to answer, carefully tipped over the flagon over the nearest groove. The sea-green concoction slithered out of the bottle like a syrup with a mind of its own as it neither sloshed nor dripped, merely travelling along the grooves in the floor as if it was eager to explore the shapes and limits of the pattern but not to go beyond. It didn't take long until the whole pattern was topped off.

Harry tossed the empty flagon to the side, not really caring where it landed as long as it was beyond the pattern on the floor. He took a deep breath, filled his mind with the very idea of himself based on everything he was and could do, added a newly acquired pensieve to the image and began chanting.

The Ancient Greek flowed over his lips like a song he had sung a thousand times before. He knew it was an entreaty of good fortune and a command for clairvoyance to aid him, naming himself a seeker and urging and coaxing magic to obey, but that didn't matter. All that he focussed on – his concentration aided by his Mind Arts studies of two months – was that idea of himself and the pensieve, used to guide the forces he was calling into being.

Magic swirled, the potion glowed and pressure built until suddenly Harry was out of words. It came almost as a surprise, but the pressure didn't let up and Harry got the idea that it wouldn't remain for long either. Immediately he turned to the Tarot deck in the first circle, shuffled once and then quickly drew a card. He placed it face-up next to the deck and idly recognised it as The Fool. He gave a small wince at that, but didn't have time for interpreting and moved on to the next circle.

His wand flicked and without a word the bowl of sage caught fire. This was his least-practiced method of Divination, but the ritual required five and sadly he had no better options. There was supposed to be a puff of smoke in which he would see images – though most of the time that was iffy still – but maybe he had been too eager on the fire spell or the ritual energy messed with his casting, or _something_, because the entire bowl's contents went up in flames at once, producing a flash of searing white flames followed by a cloud of black smoke that wafted in his face. Then he was coughing and spluttering even as his eyes watered and his throat burned.

He knew he couldn't let that stop him though – he had to _stick to the script _or Bad Things would happen – so he moved on to the next even as he distantly realised the ritual had already failed. He cracked the egg on his forehead, just over the bridge of his nose and broke it over the bowl. The shell separated perfectly down the middle and like a solid mass the yolk and white dropped onto the flat surface of the water. It hit with enough force to crack the yolk, forming a soggy mess of off-white and too-pale yellow. Again he didn't think that was supposed to happen, but he didn't have a choice and moved on.

The tea finally helped soothe his burning throat – thank Merlin – and finally something went according to plan as he swirled the dregs and they showed an image of a bird in flight, clear as day. The pressure was wavering now, the ritual's energy nearly spent and Harry shifted one last time, lashing out with his wand and dragging a golden thread from the crystal ball to his forehead, to the same spot he had just cracked an egg against.

"_Iungo_," he all but shouted and an image of a crossroads in a green field with footsteps leading west flashed before his eyes and then magic rushed out of him, leaving him feeling tired, sore and spent.

Still, he remembered the script and the final step, to render the conductivity potion inert, thereby ending the ritual. Scowling, he retched and spat black-stained glob of spit and soot into the groove before him. The sea-green turned to dark-blue and he let his shoulders slump, finally certain that at least the danger of imminent death had passed.

Behind him Madam Marchbanks coughed delicately. "Well then. That was certainly a unique experience."

Harry grunted and conjured himself a goblet and some water to rinse the remains of smoke and soot out of his mouth.

"Are you ready to analyse the findings?" Tofty asked softly when Harry made no effort to move.

Inwardly Harry was smacking himself over the head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Clearly something on this level was still beyond him, but now was not the time to sulk. This was an exam and maybe it was time to fall back on a tried and true method of passing Divination: lying his pants off.

"Sure," he said, faking brightness. "Let's talk about that."

"Hmm," Madam Marchbanks said, pursing her lips. "Start with the card."

Harry looked at the single card laying face-up in its own little circle and couldn't suppress a wince. "The Fool. It means, erm... behaviour without restraint. In ancient times the court jester was the only one allowed to speak his mind and not be punished for it. Erm... it can also symbolise an excuse..." Like the one he was making up now, not naming the most obvious solution. Was it better to pretend ignorance or prove foolishness?

Marchbanks wasn't fooled by either. "And..." she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His shoulders slumped. "The Fool can also signify the naïve beginning of too advanced a journey."

"Hmm," Madam Marchbanks said again, neutrally and Harry moved on, not wanting to linger at that particular omen. Unfortunately the sage was next. There was no better metaphor for the ritual blowing up in his face.

He swallowed. "I saw no patterns in the smoke so I can only conclude that its meaning must become obvious at a later date."

Both examiners stared at him before making identical notes on their clipboards. Wow, did they ever look unimpressed.

"Maybe I only needed four clues and that one was a dud?" he ventured. Tofty's frown turned more pronounced.

"Right, the ovomancy," Harry continued quickly. He closed his eyes to remember exactly what the egg had looked like when it hit the water and before it turned into the ugly soup that it was now. Merlin he hated the messy forms of Divination, which is why he hadn't practised them as much as he clearly ought. "The breaking of the yolk on first impact indicates instant action without hesitation. And the yolk initially surrounded on all sides by the white symbolises fitting in, acceptance, an overall positive. So... instant acceptance or agreement without hesitation?"

Harry winced as that came out as a question instead of the confidence he really needed to portray. Neither examiner looked up from their notes beyond gesturing for him to continue.

"The bird in flight in the dregs of the tea signifies freedom and flying, so that is a large clue," Harry said, a little happier at being on more familiar ground. "I'll probably need to travel a large distance. And finally there was the crystal ball, where I had a vision of a crossroads in a field with footsteps leading west. A clear direction if I ever had one."

The pair wrote everything down before looking at him inquisitively. "And now?"

Harry suppressed a wince and instead got to his feet and tried to project confidence and competence. "Now I go follow the clues I've gotten." He strode towards the pair of them and faked enthusiasm as he shook both their hands. "Thank you for coming to witness all that. I'll see you in a while with my new pensieve."

Then he fled, the end of the spiral channel mocking him as he stepped over it and out the door.

* * *

"I'm never going to get a pensieve," Harry murmured despondently after two hours of flying due west on one of the old school brooms. In the beginning he'd held on to the vague notion of hope that maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed, but all that kept him going after two hours of nothing was pure stubbornness and because returning would mean acknowledging he'd failed.

Belief, he told himself. Belief was important in Divination. As long as he kept an open mind anything was possible.

In the distance a small town appeared on the horizon. He'd passed by several, of course, but this was the first time one appeared directly across his path and he wondered what to do. Disillusioned as he was he could continue on until he either fell asleep or the charms on the broom gave out without worrying about being seen, but what would that accomplish, really? He was hungry, tired, sore and he desperately needed a bathroom. Plus, despite the bird in the teacup, what was the chance of him miraculously happening on a pensieve in mid air? If the ritual had worked he would need to land anyway. Maybe this just was the place?

Thus decided Harry landed on the outskirts, relieved his bladder behind a convenient tree, hid most of his scars with a quick glamour and strolled into town. He winced when he realised he was still dressed in robes and toting an antique looking wooden broom. What he wouldn't give for more talent at Transfiguration. He could probably manage a quick and dirty change from robes to muggle wear, but not while he was wearing the stuff and they would shortly revert. The only thing worse than walking among the muggles dressed in robes was walking among the muggles dressed in normal clothing that reverted to robes on the spot. That would be bad.

Ignoring the stares and whispers to the best of his ability – all that practise being jeered at as the Boy-Who-Lived finally came in handy – Harry walked through the town, tilting his head this way and that, hoping for a hint but not knowing what to look for.

All in all it was a moderately pleasant, if unproductive way to spend an afternoon until Harry hit a construction site, symbolically closed off by a long red and white strip of plastic that denoted any untidy by-products were supposed to stay on one side and pedestrians on the other. A sudden gust of wind did not pay attention to the rules and flung an impressive amount of sand and dust in Harry's face, leaving him sputtering and coughing.

"Of all the damned things," he cursed. "Twice in one day-"

He stopped breathing for a second.

Well, what do you know.

Watering eyes? Check. Sore throat? Check. Coughing, wheezing, an unpleasant aftertaste? Check, check and check. Was that ever familiar.

"I," Harry announced to nobody in particular after he got rid of most of the sand, "_believe_ in Divination. My faith has been restored. Never again shall I- What is that ruckus?"

A truly impressive amount of noise and yelling overshadowed the sound of nearby heavy machinery and, curious, Harry turned down a side alley to investigate. It was just wide enough for one car to pass through and opened on to a wider street with houses on both sides, each fronted by a small garden a few feet deep. Most of the parking spaces were empty and Harry had a clear view of the crowd of over a dozen people forming around a house whose owner had chosen functionality over aesthetics and had flattened the garden and filled the entire area with wide, white tiles.

The only sign that once a garden had been present was a dripping exterior tap over a small grate that had probably once been used to water the plants in summertime but now looked rather forlorn without any nature to nourish.

What had drawn all the attention was an honest-to-Merlin swan that had waggled over, probably attracted by the dripping water and had gotten one of its flippers stuck in the grate. Desperate to get free it was flapping its great and powerful wings, growing ever more agitated as more and more people surrounded it, but stuck and close to the point of seriously injuring itself.

"A bird," Harry murmured. "Of course. Sometimes a symbol isn't a symbol at all."

Despite not knowing how it could possibly help him and maybe feeling a little sorry for the poor thing Harry pushed through the line of people impotently watching, never taking his eyes off the swan.

"Calm down, you silly bird," he said softly, drawing its attention and treating it like a sentient magical creature that could understand him. Hagrid would have his head if he were ever outright disrespectful. "We're going to get you free and then it won't hurt you any longer, I promise."

Surprisingly the swan did calm down a little and stayed in place, watching Harry approach warily. He crouched in front of it so not to seem as threatening, but nevertheless it cringed backwards as he got closer.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated softly, over and over.

For a while the bird seemed to believe him and he made it to within two feet before the swan lost it, unfolded its truly impressive six feet wingspan and started beating him around the head, trumpeting threateningly and hissing in outrage.

Harry hastily scrambled backwards. "Ow! That hurt, you crazy beast!"

"What are you wearing?" asked one of the onlookers, choking back a laugh.

"My swan-hunting gear," Harry bit back, in no mood to be mocked. "I'm a professional."

What followed was a display that looked as comical as it was painful, as Harry tried and tried to get close through bribery, negotiation and superior tactics, only to get beaten back repeatedly at the cost of numerous scrapes and bruises. Wielding his broom like a weapon he tried to get some kind of leverage to keep the swan still long enough to free it, but it had amazing strength and hit the shaft hard enough that Harry thought he heard it crack.

It took twenty minutes before the front door of the house opened and an old man missing his left leg rolled out in a wheelchair with a handgun in his lap.

"Give it up, boy," he ordered in a no-nonsense tone. "I'll just put it out of its misery."

"No!" Harry objected reflexively, waving his arms. "It's just scared. It doesn't mean to hurt anyone."

"It's causing a ruckus and a mess and I won't have it," the man barked. "Move."

There was some discontented murmuring of the people standing by, but one fierce glare from the cripple and suddenly the introduction of a handgun to the equation seemed like a sensible thing and oh, look at the time. Within moments it was just two men and a swan left, with Harry mulishly refusing to move out of the way.

"Move, boy," the man barked, but Harry stood his ground.

He opened his mouth for a witty retort – he knew not what – but the words died in his throat as the image of a messy egg in a bowl of water flashed across his vision. Instant acceptance without hesitation.

"Dammit," he muttered in frustration, his shoulders slumping even as his knuckles whitened from his tight grip on the broom. He hadn't explicitly taken into account his willingness to hurt an innocent animal. Honestly, the thought hadn't occurred to him. Damn amoral rituals.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to grieve for a single breath before he shot the man a piercing stare and lifted the bristles off the ground.

"Cripple or not, I will beat you if you hurt it."

The man snorted disdainfully, but didn't come closer and Harry sighed, defeated. "Stay there. With less people around hopefully it won't be as aggressive."

Turning his back to the man – who hadn't actually picked up the handgun or Harry would never have done such a fool thing; he'd been in a war after all – Harry eyed the swan and then dove low. Sliding over the stone tiles on his belly he managed to stay below the reach of its wings and only just got his hands on the small and fragile orange flipper. He grasped it, twisted and slid it free from between the thin metal bars. In gratitude the swan rewarded Harry with full-body blows for invading its territory and he rolled to the side out of reach as fast as he could.

For a moment it looked like the swan would pursue him, but it stead it toddled off, loudly hissing and complaining all the while.

"You're welcome," Harry called after it, disgruntled, but the bird never looked back.

A disturbing cackling to the side revealed a truly horrid set of teeth as the crippled man's leathery skin twisted into a grimace and then a full blown grin as he laughed at the whole situation.

"Lord, you laying there yelling after an animal, all dressed up and looking ridiculous." He shook his head and chuckled mirthfully. "I'm a solitary kind of person, but for making me laugh like that you can come inside and straighten yerself out a little."

Still making small amused noises the man wheeled his chair around and rolled it across a ramp and over the threshold, disappearing inside. Harry watched him leave, laying on his back on the ground, feeling extraordinarily sore for dealing with so small a creature.

Worse, he had failed in this stupid Divination Quest thing and now he was all kinds of screwed. Shaking his head despondently he awkwardly clambered to his feet and somewhat limped inside and down the small hallway until he turned into the living room where the cripple was waiting with a truly impressive first-aid kit.

"Reckon it's mostly bruises and you don't need much, but some of them scrapes look nasty."

Harry slumped down in a soft chair with a sigh. "Thanks."

The man just grunted. "Was in quite a few fights in the war before I lost me leg so I know how sore you'll get." He eyed him up and down and that disturbing grin made a reappearance. "Granted, they weren't quite as valiant as yours just now."

Embarrassed, Harry turned away and took stock of the rest of the place.

It was a cosy-looking living room with soft cushions and tasteful furniture on one side and wide paths for a wheelchair to manoeuvre in on the other. A few empty beer-bottles left here and there were signs of an obvious bachelor, yet the doilies on a side table and the brightly coloured little animal figurines on the fireplace mantle were very feminine touches. The tall bookcase was filled to the brim, but only the bottom half was relatively clean whereas the top was dusty without signs of ever being touched. All in all it had the air of a well-cared for home for two very different people that had suddenly lost its primary caretaker.

The back wall had double doors with large windows, opening up to a large garden that unlike the paved over front one was filled with plants and flowers surrounding a small field of green grass. It looked well-maintained without evidence of wheelchair-tracks so the man presumably hired someone else to take care of it.

In the centre of the lawn stood a large hip-height birdbath made of marble, adorned with symbols out of place in this home. A few sparrows were busily bathing and chirping away, having the time of their lives.

Harry's jaw almost hit the floor as he realised what he was looking at.

"Would you, by chance, be willing to sell me your... bird bath?" he asked with a weird croak in his voice.

"Ha!" said the man jovially "Not for less than three hun'red pounds, I'm not."

A broken egg firmly in mind Harry exclaimed, "Sold!" almost before the man was done speaking.

It earned him a surprised blink and a solid look tinged with deep sadness. "You really want that thing? To be honest I'm not real eager to sell. It was a favourite of me wife's, you see."

"I really, really want that thing," Harry confirmed, nodding solemnly.

The man grumbled. "Well I suppose I shouldn't have offered a price if I weren't willing." He sighed and slumped backwards, looking weary. "All right, kid. She's yours for three hundred."

Harry let out a breath of relief and tried to convey how much that decision meant to him as he shook the man's hand with a firm grip. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."

* * *

Three hours later, after being laughed at by both Marchbanks and Tofty who insisted on testing his new pensieve by seeing his humiliation firsthand Harry was finally back in his rooms where his pensieve had earned a place of honour against a blank stretch of wall. On the desk lay his second treasure of the day, a laminated card depicting his inclusion among the recognised elite in Divination practitioners. Truly, by any standards he would care to set today was a success without equal.

And yet Harry's back was turned to both as he sat hunched over in front of the fireplace nursing a butter beer, pondering a different question that he had put aside for the past few weeks.

In his study of rituals he'd thought more than once on the one that brought him here. Unlike the Seeker's Soothsaying that one hadn't been weak at all. The power required to open a rift between dimensions was enormous. On top of that, if one ignored ethics the ability to call forth anyone in existence was almost limitless in its potential.

He still didn't know the specifics as Dumbledore was being awfully reticent in handing over his personal notes, but it was clear that the ritual had had many participants and contained something that made it Dark enough to cause irreparable scarring.

A ritual of such power and potential... What the hell had been the sacrifice?

What had they done?

* * *

**A/N:** Back on schedule and finally we reach the end of summer!

The idea of some kind of Divination Quest is one of the things that have been with me from the beginning when I wondered how Divination could be useful in practice without overpowering the hell out of it, showcasing the importance of belief, dual meanings and ambivalent predictions and how and why decisions based on them could and would be impacted. I originally planned to have Harry test his own skill as proof to himself that he could be a good teacher and not become either Lockhart or Trelawney. Then I thought, why not hit like five birds with one stone and acquire a pensieve and a Divination Permit at the same time, reducing Room of Requirement dependency and solving legal troubles? Oh, and introduce rituals more in-depth, raising a few more interesting questions and possibilities.

And then I beat Harry over the head with a swan because while he is allowed to be awesome he's not allowed to look that way.

Recommendation of the week: Faery Heroes by Silently Watches. Dimension hopping, side-ways time-travelling, it's really six of one and half a dozen of the other. Faery Heroes is great fun, light-hearted with a unique approach to living life and waging war against Voldemort.

Next chapter: September 1st! Yay!

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	13. Your hero is openly confrontational?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 13 – Your hero is openly confrontational?**

September first started like any other normal Sunday. Harry slept in until he awoke fully rested and eager to leave his comfortable bed and after a quick shower and dressing himself in the nicest, yet still slightly frayed robes he owned, moved over to the living room and called Tilly for some breakfast.

While that was being prepared he ambled to investigate the twelve teacups on their saucers, aligned in two neat little rows on a table to the side. Each was kindly labelled with a small scrap of parchment bearing a name, date and time in splotchy ink. Truly, he mused, elves were vastly underrated creatures. Their efficiency was remarkable. Frightening even, come to think of it.

"Your breakfast, Master Harry," Tilly squeaked from near his desk, happy as a clam to be of service.

"Marvellous as always, Tilly," Harry said with a warm smile, "as are your efforts to bring me those teacups to practise. However, with the students arriving later today perhaps I don't have need of all the teacups you can spare; I don't need hundreds at a time after all. Can we limit it to only the adults from now on?"

Tilly blinked his huge eyes. "Does Master Harry also mean the students that are being of age?"

He thought that over for a moment but ultimately shook his head. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Just adults and no students."

"Elves will be happy to help," Tilly promised, popping out.

"And what a help you are," Harry murmured in the empty room, picking up the cup labelled 'Master Headmaster Dumblydore' and bringing it over to look at as he ate.

Today was the first day of his new job, kicking off with a staff meeting while the students were still sequestered away on the train. For the first time he would be required to interact with the Headmaster and the rest of the staff and he wasn't quite sure how to act. Sure, his opinion on Dumbledore and the other Order members in that room was firmly cemented, but the rest of the people there had done him no harm.

If it were up to him he would rather make a good first impression, maybe even a few tentative friendships. They would be working together after all and he would have a miserable time if every adult he interacted with on a daily basis treated him like the dirt wedged in the soles of their boots.

Unfortunately it wasn't completely up to him as most of those people had built long-lasting friendships with the Headmaster, having come to trust him without question. They were very similar to the Order that way. When Harry had tried to shake the Order's trust in their leader with his strategically lobbed bombshell of the scandals in Rita Skeeter's book, a few comments from the old man had smoothed their ruffled their feathers within seconds. In hindsight it wasn't that surprising; the man was a politician with a century of experience. Still, it was evidence towards his suspicion that the Headmaster would control the opinions in the staff room like a conductor directed his orchestra.

Indeed, peering into the teacup the elves had appropriated he saw bits of soggy brown shredded leaf shaped like the head of a fox, the symbol for cleverness and trickery. The man was scheming – as always – and apparently things were going well for him. True, the fox had shown up in practically every cup of tea Dumbledore drank that the elves managed to steal for him over the past few weeks – thank Merlin for the deeply ingrained British need of imbibing the drink daily – so that didn't necessarily mean the scheming was against Harry. All the same, it wasn't a promising omen.

And yet... not all of Dumbledore's schemes came to fruition. Harry had felt a sense of vicious satisfaction at all the rocks, closed boxes, and shut padlocks that had appeared every once in a while. The man was desperately searching for something, but being stymied at every turn and finding obstacles on his path to boot.

And like those times, today the Headmaster's cup was not wholly positive.

Twisting the cup a quarter turn revealed an onion, the symbol for spilled secrets that Dumbledore rather would have kept. Harry hummed as he sat back and drank from his own cup of tea. Now _that_ had potential.

* * *

When Harry entered the staff room most of his new colleagues were already present, though the Headmaster himself was still missing. All of them ignored the long dark wooden table in the centre, big enough to seat two dozen and were instead standing clustered in small groups, happily chatting away and sharing summer stories. They appeared very picture of old friends catching up after a two-month long absence.

Naturally his entrance drew every eye in the room. For a brief moment he felt like an exhibit at the zoo as they all inspected him, eyes lingering on his clothes, his hair, his posture, all of them judging him. But eventually, as he knew they would, the looks stalled on his scars. The ugly lines were not glamoured in the slightest and thus stood out against his pale skin, all of them very prominently visible.

Harry had expected the frowns, the pity and the occasional flinch, but the many looks of concern were somewhat of a surprise. Even more so was how quickly they were hidden.

He carefully kept his face blank. Ah. Dumbledore had spun some kind of tale about him already.

Flitwick was the one closest to the door and the first to shake off whatever had come over the rest of the room's occupants. The small man eagerly bounced over in a typical display of his boundless energy, wearing a large grin. "Welcome Professor White, among the illustrious company that is Hogwarts' staff!" He grinned and stuck out his hand. "Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms!"

Harry didn't miss the fact that his name was already known by those in the room. Oh yes, a tale indeed. The question, of course, was how to now best poke holes in it.

"Harry, please," he said, shaking the little man's hand and smiling despite himself. Flitwick had always been extraordinarily cheerful. "I look forward to learning all the little secrets that the students never get to see."

"Oh, they are many and varied, that I promise. And call me Filius, if you would. The vast majority of this castle's inhabitants don't use my first name. If the staff took up that habit as well I'm liable to forget what it is."

Harry chuckled politely and allowed himself to be led around the room, shaking hands – though he avoided McGonagall – and murmuring pleasantries. When Snape stalked inside a few minutes later, dark cloak flapping like the dogs of hell were snapping at the trim, Harry knew the festivities would be coming to a start. Indeed, following in Snape's footsteps like the dour man was his herald sauntered Dumbledore himself, his bright blue robes adorned with animated toy wands shooting golden sparks looking even more eye-watering in contrast.

Most of the effect of the dramatic entrances was lost, however, by the staff acting like they had seen it all a thousand times before. Instead it only served as a signal to get started. Everyone made for the table and Harry found himself seated between Flitwick – Filius, he reminded himself – and Rolanda Hooch.

"Welcome to the first staff meeting of the year," Dumbledore opened things up from his place at the head of the table. "I hope you all had delightful summers?" A soft murmur of general agreement met that question but the old man smiled beatifically as if they exuded such enjoyment that they might spontaneously burst into song.

"How wonderful. Now, as you no doubt have noticed, there are a couple of new faces among us. First, to my left, for those of you who don't remember him from his previous stint as Potions Professor fifteen years ago, I give you Horace Slughorn."

The portly bald man with the large silvery walrus-like moustache chuckled jovially in his seat and gave a small wave. "Wonderful to be back again, I must say. So happy to see some of my former students have done so well for themselves, eh Severus?"

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore interrupted, seeing the dour man scowl. "Horace will be taking up his old post in Potions which has freed up Severus to finally pursue the Defence post he has coveted for so long."

A collective intake of breaths followed, accompanied by the swivelling of many heads as everyone turned to stare at Snape in surprise at abandoning his first love of Potions for what amounted to a death-sentence as DADA professor.

Dumbledore, of course acted like they had enthusiastically applauded the whole thing. "Finally, to my right is a new addition to our fine school. I am quite happy to introduce the new Divination Professor, Harry White."

Dumbledore's happy proclamation felt like a jab at how Harry had been successfully blackmailed into the position. Harry tried to smile and nod politely, but feared it came out as more of a grimace. Meanwhile his mind raced as he tried to come up with an honest comment that was equally duplicitous.

He finally found one and his smile turned a little more genuine as he looked at the non-Order members in the room. "I look forward to working with most of you."

There was a beat of silence and then Filius asked, surprised, "Most of us?"

"It is true that we have an amazing collection of people here," Dumbledore said quickly before Harry could respond, "and I am very glad you appreciate the opportunity you have been granted." With a sharp gesture of his wand the parchment in front of him duplicated so that there were enough copies for everyone and with hurried little movements they floated over to each of them. "Now, there is a lot of ground to cover so I feel it would be best to get to business quickly-"

"Actually, Albus," Harry interrupted, "I feel this is one subject that we really should address as soon as possible."

For a brief moment the old man looked disgruntled, but that was quickly buried again under his mask of geniality. "I had rather thought you wanted to keep the details of your private life to yourself."

Harry grimaced. "And I would. Except that things never seem to work out like I want and these people can obviously feel that something is going on already. I believe honesty will serve me best in this case."

"I really think-"

"There exists rather a large amount of animosity between me and the Headmaster," Harry said loudly, speaking over Dumbledore's blatant attempts to silence him. Around him the people watched their verbal sparring with wide eyes. "This animosity extends to his group of... compatriots. You see, these very visible scars that I promise you extend all the way over my body are the result of their high-handed and ill-thought actions this summer."

Dumbledore's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his hands, every inch of him the picture of a harmless and tired old man unjustly beset by foes from every direction. "Like I have said before, one cannot be held responsible for a truly unfortunate and unforeseen side-effect for which all of us have nevertheless repeatedly apologised."

Already Harry could feel the first signs of hostility beginning to build in the other staff members as the new guy insulted the Greatest Wizard of the Age. Accusations by the stranger with the frightening looks had rather less impact than their old friend's honeyed words.

Time to nip that in the bud. "Notice how he didn't deny it."

"On the contrary," Dumbledore countered. "I rather vehemently deny that we set out to hurt anyone so grievously."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Though you do not deny that you did."

Dumbledore sighed, put upon, as if Harry was a particularly slow student that he pitied. "Again I repeat that at no point did we mean to cause you any harm whatsoever."

"But you did. And lots of it at that. It was only through Madam Pomfrey's actions that I survived." He shot her a grateful look. "Thank you for that, by the way. I wasn't quite in my right mind those first few days or I would have said something sooner."

"You're welcome, Harry," she said, uneasily looking between him and the Headmaster. "You made a nice mummy for a while."

Harry chuckled and everybody breathed in relief as a little of the tension dissipated. He took note and tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, looking pensive.

"Having me bleed to death was probably not your goal, I'll grant you that much," he mused. He slowly looked around, meeting everyone's eyes before finally reaching Dumbledore, noting his customary twinkle was absent behind his half-moon glasses. For a second their gazes locked and then, without looking away, he casually added, "You just meant to kidnap and blackmail me. The torture and disfigurement were a happy coincidence."

The tension that had slowly been seeping away rushed back with a vengeance and a feeling of outrage built in the room, only held back by a thin veneer of confusion. Harry's accusations against a man they respected were vile and unthinkable and yet everyone had taken notice that the Headmaster had not refuted them outright. An explosion was imminent, all that outrage precariously balanced as if on a knife's edge, the building storm capable of coming down on either side of the argument with only the slightest of nudges.

With Snape in the room Harry had rather expected history to repeat itself and for the man to start spewing verbal diarrhoea as soon as Harry tried to get a word in edgewise. He was therefore surprised when the man stayed silent, choosing to carefully observe, the calculating glint in his eyes the only sign he found the development anything but boring.

No, it was someone else entirely who made their displeasure known.

"That. Is. Enough!" McGonagall snapped from between clenched teeth. She was visibly bristling with fury in her seat next to the Headmaster and her words came out in a hiss of air as the feline features of her animagus form showed through. "This is a _staff meeting_ where we discuss the particulars of the _coming school year_. Your personal grudges have no place here!"

"Except that this tension obviously exists and we cannot simply ignore it," Harry snapped back.

He straightened in his seat, squaring his shoulders and let passion fill his voice as he addressed everybody in the room the way he'd hoped to get a chance to.

"There clearly exists animosity between me and the Headmaster, for quite good reasons at that. Were it up to me I would never have taken a job in such a hostile environment, but everyone knows that what Albus wants, Albus gets and he wanted me in this castle so I am stuck here.

"The reason I bring this up now is to reassure you that despite everything else I will exhibit professionalism when I need to. I didn't want the job, but now that I have a responsibility to my students – forced upon me or not – I will be the best teacher I can be, the teacher they deserve."

It was silent for a long moment, the tension thick as everyone took in his little speech with baited breath until it was broken by Sprout, of all people, who murmured, "Loyalty in the face of adversity. A very admirable sentiment."

The approval by a well liked and respected neutral party among them toppled public opinion in the staff room like the first domino in a long line. The tension ebbed and Harry felt a general feeling of acceptance meet him as people were still uncertain about what all had occurred two months ago, but now felt heartened that at least the ideals Harry extolled at the moment were ideals they too could get behind.

Of course not everyone was equally affected. Notably McGonagall looked like she had just sucked on a lemon only to choke on one of the seeds. Dumbledore too frowned faintly at the acceptance of his new professor by the rest of the staff after so openly declaring himself against him.

It was all Harry could have wished for.

Snape's bored scowl made him smirk, though. Of course the man was displeased at discussing student welfare. What did he care?

Dumbledore ended up gracefully but swiftly putting the topic to rest. "I am always glad to see everyone getting along so famously, but alas, business beckons. The first item on the agenda is Argus's fervent plea to pre-emptively ban the entire inventory of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes..."

* * *

Two hours later, having finally exhausted the prepared agenda and shattering Harry's hopes that he would ever regain the use of his right hand after all the paperwork they foisted on him, Dumbledore and Snape hurried out, leaving Harry surrounded by a group of well-acquainted teachers curious about the new guy.

Perhaps fittingly it was Sprout who made the first overture. "I was really impressed by what you said about putting the students first."

Harry smiled at her gratefully. "Being a teacher is not a career I had considered, to be honest, but now that I am one I intend to produce the finest crop of Divination students this school has ever seen."

McGonagall scoffed from somewhere in the back, causing Sprout to smile wryly. "You'll have to forgive Minerva. She's somewhat biased against the subject." She pursed her lips and looked him up and down. "To be honest, you're not quite what we expected from a Divination teacher."

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted, knowing full well what they were used to, although they didn't know that. "Oh?"

"Yes, your predecessor, Sybill Trelawney was-"

"A fraud," McGonagall said forcefully.

"-a little more dramatic than you appear to be," Sprout finished, shooting a disapproving look at Minerva. "She put great stock in acting every inch the traditional Seer."

"Perhaps that is the difference between us," Harry said, feigning deep thought. "Unlike her I am not a Prophet and as such had to work for every inch of my skills without the advantage of an inborn talent. Acting the role of a traditional Seer would make me feel like a fraud."

That raised a few eyebrows around the room but nobody was brave enough to comment.

Suddenly Sprout sighed sadly. "Dreadful thing, what happened to Sybill. I'm going to miss her, batty as she was." A non-committal murmur met her declaration and the frumpy woman glared around in outrage at the general lack of sympathy before she perked up as she seemed to remember something and dove for her purse. Moments later she carefully placed a crystal ball the size of an orange on the table, held up by an ornately wrought silver stand decorated with beads and colourful little strips of cloth.

"I saw this in a little muggle shop in Italy and it made me think of her. Pretty, isn't it?"

Harry smiled faintly. Trelawney's defining feature had been her thick, overly large glasses giving her a somewhat bug-like appearance. The crystal ball likewise distorted everything visible on the other side into funhouse caricatures. Dressed up as it was in little shawls adorned with beads it was a very nice memento of a dead woman.

"A muggle shop, you say?" Harry asked curiously in the silence that followed. He flicked his wand into his hand and motioned it over the thing, showing a familiarity born of having done so a hundred times before.

"_Paratus Aspiciet,_" he murmured, casting the charm to inspect the strength of its enchantments. As expected, the thing did not so much as glow. "Do you want me to enchant it for you so that you can actually use it?"

Sprout hesitated. "I did not know such a thing was even necessary."

Harry gave her a long look. "Yes, I noticed that particular omission in the previous course material. As a result I've spent hours matching every crystal ball in my tower back up with its own stand and redoing the enchantments on each and every set."

"I, um... If it's not too much trouble?"

Harry shrugged and just got to work, his wand gracefully whipping through the air and incantations flowing from his lips as easily as if they were his native language. After all the practice he'd had it took only about five minutes before the thing glowed in all the colours of the rainbow when he cast the detection charm a second time.

"There you go," he said, sitting back with satisfaction. "One crystal ball, ready to Divine to your heart's content."

A stunned silence met his proclamation and when he looked up he saw for the first time that everyone in the room was staring at him.

"What?" he said defensively before blinking in realisation. Their gobsmacked expressions perfectly mimicked his own at the beginning of summer. These people had never seen Divination as an actual field of magic, instead dismissing it as a fad for weirdos and overly dramatic bug-eyed women dressed up as traditional Seers. They were probably just as surprised at his wielding a wand – and doing so professionally – as he was when he first met Cassandra's portrait and she told him that he needed it.

Which, he realised a second later, was a godsend in this particular setting. He had managed to set fire to whatever picture the Headmaster had attempted to paint of him, winning the others over with his display of compassion for his students and conviction in his beliefs. If, however, he could prove competence in his chosen field on top of that... Well, that might just be enough to cement him as a respectable person in their eyes.

"I've never seen anything like it and I actually took the Divination O.W.L.," Sprout murmured with not a little astonishment.

Harry coughed. "Well it's not really impressive unless it works, now is it?" He gestured for her to take a seat next to him and pushed the contraption across the table until it innocently refracted the sunlight on its surface in front of her.

"Come on," he urged when she shot him a hesitant look. "Give it a try."

The frumpy woman swallowed, but gamely hunched forward, placing her hands on either side of the crystal ball and gazing at it with all the intensity of a budget basilisk. There was a tense silence and her frown turned deeper as cords of muscle appeared in her neck like she was trying to wrench a vision from the crystal ball using brute strength alone.

After a full minute of nothing, however, Harry coughed delicately. "What are you doing?"

Sprout jumped and blinked a couple times rapidly, her eyes having dried up during her intense bout of trying to stare down an inanimate object. "I was trying to get a vision?"

Harry hummed non-committally. "Any luck?"

"Well no, not yet."

Behind them McGonagall snorted again but Harry tuned her out. Instead he pursed his lips and carefully asked, "Would you consider yourself a well-practised Diviner?"

"Not really." She gestured at her well-worn clothes, smudged with dirt in places. "I'm more of a hands-on kind of person and much more at home with plants than crystal balls."

Harry nodded in understanding. "Might I then suggest you not forego the charm that all but the most adept Diviners use for crystal-ball gazing? That way you're not quite as reliant on the sensitivity of your inner eye to make that initial connection, nor hamstrung by your lack of familiarity with the process." He held his breath, desperately hoping she would not take it the wrong way and take offence...

"There's a charm for that!?" she shrieked and inwardly Harry crowed. Was this how Hermione felt all the time at knowing things that other people didn't?

"Indeed there is and it's a simple one. Let me teach it to you."

It only took a minute – it _was_ a very simple spell – and the whole room watched curiously as Sprout dragged the tip of her wand, carrying a luminous golden thread, from the crystal ball to her forehead. The tip made contact and it glowed a bright gold before disappearing. At the same time the woman's eyes widened dramatically.

Ignoring the people around them crowding ever closer, Harry spoke softly and intently, "Well done. Now put down your wand – yes, that's it – reach forward and cup the ball in both hands."

Her hands shook, but she followed his instructions and the moment they made contact it was as if a jolt of electricity shot through her as she went rigid for an instant before before flinching back in her chair, which skidded back an inch from the force of it. The gold thread snapped with the tinkling of broken glass and Sprout's wild eyes darted around until they were caught by Harry's calm and proud gaze.

"I had a vision," she breathed.

"That you did" Harry said, not a little smugly. "You kind of convulsed and then shot back in your chair. It was all very dramatic."

She ignored his teasing and her eyes took on a far-off cast as she tried to recall what she'd seen. "It went by so fast, though."

"Yeah, they do that sometimes. If you have a pensieve you can review the memory and get more detail out of it."

She didn't respond, lost in her recollection and it was Hooch that broke the confused silence that followed. "Excuse me, but what in the name of Merlin and Morgana just happened?"

"I'd say that was fairly obvious," McGonagall said in clipped tones, sniffing dismissively. "Professor White cast a few hallucinogenic spells on Pomona's souvenir, spun a tale and she fell for it hook, line and sinker."

Her accusation was met with absolute silence as everyone was still too off-balance from the explosive argument, followed by the long mind-numbing staff meeting to completely digest this unforeseen development. Despite their reluctance to voice their thoughts, some scathing looks were sent McGonagall's nevertheless. Harry was tempted to open his mouth to add fuel to the fire, but feared that all his hard work at appearing respectable might be undone if he got into an argument now.

As if miffed at the lack of debate, McGonagall shook her head. "Unlike some of those here, I have an actual skill to teach, which requires preparation. I will see you at the evening meal."

She left, head held high, but even after she was gone the volume in the staff room never rose above a murmur. By ones and twos the others slowly departed as well until it was only Harry and Sprout left, the latter finally coming to from the shock to her system and the ensuing trip down memory lane.

"Oh, have the others left already?" she asked, blinking slowly.

"They have. It appeared as if someone went and upended their world view."

"The poor dears," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, thank you for that highly interesting lesson and keeping me company afterwards."

"It was no problem. Really, I was a little worried about my first class, but I realise that I've already had it. Never would have imagined I'd start by teaching the teachers first."

She sniggered. "You did very well."

"Thank you." For a moment he fidgeted in his chair. "There was actually something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "As you know I'm rather scarred."

The smile left her face and she winced as her eyes traced the lines on his uncovered skin. "I'm sorry for whatever happened to you."

"Yeah," he said again, swallowing heavily. "The point is, today it was important for everyone to see them to understand why me and the Headmaster don't get along. But in the future I have the option of glamouring them."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything, letting him talk.

"I know I shouldn't hide from something or be ashamed of them, but at the same time people wince when they look at me on the street because I look rather frightening. I'm worried how it will impact the students and my teaching."

Sprout patted his hand in sympathy. "Ideally I would agree with you, looks should not matter and everyone should accept themselves. It's a lesson that I try to impart multiple times a year because as you well know, teenagers are rather sensitive about the topic." She sighed. "Unfortunately that focus on looks means that a frightening appearance may be off-putting to your students. If they fear you they won't dare ask you questions and that will, indeed, harm your ability to teach rather severely."

Harry looked down at his lap and scowled, though he honestly didn't know if he would have been happier with another answer. "So glamour it is, then."

"If you truly intend to be the best Divination teacher this school has ever seen I would not recommend starting with a handicap, dear," she said, grimacing in sympathy.

He took a deep breath before getting to his feet. "Then it looks like I have some practising to do before the students get here."

* * *

That evening Harry found himself a seat in the Great Hall next to Sprout at the staff table, wearing a glamour of his ritual-altered face without the many marks. He had spent the afternoon carefully adjusting it so as to minimise any similarity to James Potter that might be more obvious without the distraction of his wounds.

"You look good," was the woman's only comment on the subject. Harry found himself feeling extraordinarily grateful that she didn't make a big deal out of it.

They didn't have a chance to chat for long before an increasingly loud thundering of many boots on stone announced the arrival of the second through seventh years.

"Beware the coming horde," Flitwick quipped under his breath and then students were streaming in through the Great Hall doors.

Having been in this room many times, this was nevertheless his first time seated on the raised dais at the front and Harry couldn't help but gasp. The vision of hundreds of students returning home, scurrying along their house tables like four tribes of differently coloured ants, illuminated from above by thousands of candles backed by starlight from the enchanted ceiling was every bit as impressive as that very first glimpse of the castle from their boats on the lake.

And then Iris Potter entered.

As soon as she walked through the great double doors his eye was drawn to her and his wasn't the only one.

Everyone noticed. Flaming shoulder-length red hair streamed behind her as she made her way to the Gryffindor table with brisk, angry paces. She was tiny, easily mistaken for a fourth year, but despite that she had the presence of someone twice her size, backed by an aura of irritability and aggression. She was flanked by Neville, Ron and Hermione, who orbited the slip of a girl, eyes narrowed and gazes alert as they formed a barrier of human flesh around her.

They didn't act like friends, he realised with a start. They acted like bodyguards.

His eye roved over the people surrounding them and he frowned when he saw that it might be a necessary gesture. Because everyone was staring and whispering and none of the looks were wholly positive. No, most were far darker than that. There was a tension present that he didn't remember existing back in his own world and it had a malicious edge that might well cause everything to devolve into violence on the flimsiest of triggers.

Frowning, he watched the team of four claim their spot at the table – the same place he had always sat with his friends – and took the time to study them.

Hermione was exactly the same as he remembered her at that age as she sat at Iris' side. Her bushy hair was no longer a mane exactly, but it was not quite calmed down yet either. Her eyes had always been alert with that eagerness of hoping to spot something new, something to learn, but only when they had fled for their lives and lived on the run in a tent had she started seeking out threats the way she was doing now.

Ron was at the end of his tall and gangly stage with remnants of the awkwardness a sudden growth spurt brought still showing. Nevertheless, his loyalty was on display for all to see as he sat on the other side of the table, wand out, so he could look over Iris shoulder and guard her back.

Neville closed the ranks around Iris, sitting at her other side. His nervous demeanour had only last year begun to grow into the calm confidence he would eventually exhibit as a man when the DA gave him friends and Iris taught him to fight and to stand up for himself. Despite his obvious anxiety he placed his solid frame firmly between Iris and anyone that thought to so much as cough in her direction, ready and willing to intercept the germs any way that he knew how.

It was an incredible display of loyalty and strength, of friendship and conviction, all of which was inspired by the sixteen year old in the centre.

Iris Potter looked angry and irritated, but when Harry looked deeper he saw those emotions were born of a deep hurt. She hid it well, but before she retorted acerbically at the accusations people muttered at her she visibly had to steel herself from cringing. Two months at the Dursleys without respite was enough to sap anyone's spirit, but add in a constant barrage of morale-sapping character assassination by the Daily Prophet and this kind of reception at when she was finally released to Hogwarts? It was enough to turn anyone's stomach.

Harry thought she was holding up admirably.

McGonagall led in the first years and finally the angry muttering ceased. Harry thought Iris shivered, looking remarkably brittle for an instant, but that may just have been a trick of the light due to the flickering flames.

Having had lunch not consisting of expensive sugary treats bought from the trolley on the train Harry was quite able the weather the sorting of the first years, much more so than the hungry students eager to get on with it. He clapped politely for each, not picking favourites and felt no need to descend on the food like the horde of ravening beasts before him when the elves finally brought it up.

It was interesting place to sit, he decided.

Similar to how he had a prime position on the dais to watch the students enter, so was he on display for everybody in the room to point at and ponder on his background. The overwhelming consensus was that he would fill the vacant Defence slot, followed by speculation on how he would leave the school and if it would be under his own power.

He ignored the pointing and gossiping by the students, instead choosing to chat with Sprout, who he learned was an absolute chocoholic to the point where the rest of the staff – discretely – made fun of the enormous stash of Honeydukes' finest she had in store, "for the homesick first years."

Judging by her faint blush and the number of jabs at her expense it was an old excuse that nobody believed.

In between bites he tried to remember what had happened at the start of his own sixth year. Snape's appointment had been a big shock he recalled. But wasn't there more? Oh, right. Malfoy had caught him snooping on the train and broken his nose, resulting in a rather degrading solo entrance where everyone got a very good look at his blood-soaked shirt. He'd felt a bit like a defeated gladiator taking a walk of shame.

My, how things change. Had Iris chosen not to snoop on the blonde brat or had she simply not gotten caught?

The feast came to an end and Dumbledore quickly took centre stage for his annual set of announcements before one of the firsties fell asleep and drowned themselves in half an inch of melted ice cream. Harry ignored most of the messages – they'd gone over this in the meeting, after all – but he remembered to clap where required. Then, of course, the Headmaster called his name.

Harry stood so that everyone could get a good look at him and smiled politely at the crowd. Most of them looked bewildered – Trelawney had not taken an active role in student life but when she did she was... memorable – but some of them had eager expressions on their faces as if he might suddenly prophesise the rebirth of Merlin between sips of pumpkin juice.

For a brief moment he'd considered making a scene akin to his introduction to the staff this morning but ultimately decided not to. First of all, he didn't need to make such an impression on the students. To them, he was here to teach, no more or less so than any of his colleagues. Secondly, Umbridge had made a fuss last year and that travesty would still be fresh in everyone's minds. Having successfully avoided drawing parallels between himself and Lockhart and himself and Trelawney thus far, he was not eager to fail when it came to avoiding parallels between himself and the pink toad.

On that happy thought Dumbledore dismissed the students to their beds and Harry said a contented goodbye to almost everyone before toddling off to his own little demesne at the top of 'his' tower.

He didn't go to sleep yet, however. There was a very important letter that he wished to write now that Iris was finally in the castle.

Originally he'd contacted her wanting to help and hoping to find a kindred spirit. She'd refused to keep his secrets seeing as how he was a complete unknown during a time of war but they had nevertheless built a friendship through many, many silly letters and the occasional bit of good advice.

With both of them in the same castle, however, they could meet up face to face and Harry thought he had an excellent chance at getting her to hear him out based on the goodwill he had already built and the trust implicit in Dumbledore hiring him as a teacher. Granted, that last was rather tainted by the many bad decisions over the years, but it was more than he'd had before.

His only problem was that he didn't know how to word the invitation, as the many crumpled bits of parchment on the floor aptly demonstrated.

_Come meet me in my tower_ had a very nice creepy vibe to it she would probably appreciate in hindsight, but it wouldn't do for her to run screaming to the Headmaster at the eleventh hour.

_I'm sure you have questions about the prophecy and I'm in a prime position to answer them_ was a nice argument, if he wanted to come across as yet another one of those pushy Divination experts looking to make a name for themselves.

_We've been writing for a while now, how about meeting face to face_ sounded like a line from a dating service-

A rapid, forceful banging on the trap door to his rooms shook him out of his reverie. Harry checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. Though it was not quite curfew, it would be by the time whoever-it-was got back to their dorms.

He shot an Unlocking Charm at the door and called out, "Come on up!"

It slammed open, the small wooden surface bouncing off the carpet with a thud and up the ladder stormed Iris Potter herself, one hand gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles whitened, the other clutched around a ratty, crumpled piece of parchment-

Harry felt like his meal turned to stone in his stomach as he recognised the Marauder's Map.

Iris hauled herself into the room, wand already pointed at him and straightened herself to her utterly unimpressive four foot eleven. Her magic whirled in agitation, charging the air around her, causing a few errant locks of hair to dance around like strings in a breeze.

"Why the hell are you pretending to be Harry White when you're really Harry Potter?" she barked, furious before her eyelid twitched. "And where the hell have you been?"

* * *

**A/N:** Last chapter was well-received, it seems. I'm glad. I'm having lots of fun playing with Divination and it's good if that shines through.

We get to see Harry trying to make use of his unconventional spy-network here, as well as him actually making a premeditated speech in order to influence people and correct their preconceptions. Go Harry. Also, of course he'll teach his first class before the students are even there. Harry laughs at conventional people.

Apart from him finally getting somewhere, September first forcibly marks the end of his isolation by virtue of being locked in a crowded castle filled with nosy teenagers. Way back when I had all these cool scenes in mind for Harry to craftily reveal his identity until someone nonchalantly asked, "What about the Map?" Cue a lot of swearing, scratching and an upsurge in local paper purchases as I had to discard all of them. In revenge I didn't allow Iris to even dither in finding out and got it over with quickly. Because now she is fresh from two months of imprisonment with 'relatives' when she discovers a 'family' member hiding from her. Do you know what that makes her? Yes, a woman scorned, like which fury hell hath no.

Recommendation of the week: Harry Potter and the Distaff Side by Clell65619. Involuntary dimensional travel to a place where everyone has the wrong gender and, discounted as 'just a boy', an awesome Harry comes kind of out of left field for a lot of people. It's not been updated for about a year, but don't let that stop you from enjoying the works of one of the better fanfic authors around.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	14. But has your hero met the local talent?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Excerpt from Chapter 13**

Harry shot an Unlocking Charm at the trap door and called out, "Come on up!"

It slammed open, the small wooden surface bouncing off the carpet with a thud and up the ladder stormed Iris Potter herself, one hand gripping her wand so tightly her knuckles whitened, the other clutched around a ratty, crumpled piece of parchment-

Harry felt like his meal turned to stone in his stomach as he recognised the Marauder's Map.

Iris hauled herself into the room, wand already pointed at him and straightened herself to her utterly unimpressive four foot eleven. Her magic whirled in agitation, charging the air around her, causing a few errant locks of hair to dance around like strings in a breeze.

"Why the hell are you pretending to be Harry White when you're really Harry Potter?" she barked, furious before her eyelid twitched. "And where the hell have you been?"

* * *

**Chapter 14 – But has your hero met the local talent?**

Iris Potter stood in the centre of Harry's living room, magic swirling, hair whipping about her face, her mouth drawn up in a furious scowl, but her eyes shone with a deep hurt that she only managed to barely control by drowning it in anger. Her wand was out and pointing at him, emitting angry sparks with every beat of her heart as if it was the final dam holding back the frothing sea of emotion and it was failing.

Harry stared at her, his mind whirling as he cursed his rotten luck at her finding out before he could come clean and taking stock of his options to defuse the situation, because he recognised the mood she was in as one he was intimately familiar with: right before he destroyed Dumbledore's office.

A single ill-chosen comment had been enough to set him off then and it looked like he and Iris were similar enough that he had to choose his words very carefully.

He may not own a lot, but everything he did have was in this room, in danger of Iris exploding all of it on general principle.

Slowly spreading his arms wide, palms open to show he was not in any way a threat he captured her gaze and spoke in a low voice, "Dobby!"

Iris eyes widened at that unexpected name and in her surprise she shot a fountain of sparks the colour of blue flame from her wand that burned small holes in the carpet.

A pop, to the side and out of his line of sight signified the elf's arrival, but Harry didn't dare release Iris' eyes.

"Master Harry calls for-" Dobby began before shrieking in outrage, "What is you doing to Great Miss Iris Potter ma'am!?"

He popped out and reappeared at Iris' side, his little green hand raised in a warding gesture, quite ready to blast Harry off his feet and possibly out of the tower.

"Dobby," Harry spoke with forced calm, "I need you to confirm to Miss Potter here that all those letters you delivered this summer signed 'Anonymous Samaritan' came from me."

"What?" Iris asked in a strangled voice.

"Dobby!" Harry urged.

"Master Harry is speaking truth," the elf said reluctantly, giving him the evil eye. "Master Harry is sending Dobby with letters, signing Anonymous Samaritan."

Iris drew in a deep, shuddering breath, causing her wand to emit another handful of sparks and then carefully let it out, hissing like a valve releasing pressure. With every second her magic stilled a little more. It took a dozen such breaths for it to calm completely and only then did she lower her wand.

Harry watched her regain control, feeling uncomfortably like he had just dodged a bullet. She was still dressed in her school robes and skirt, black with a red and gold trim. Now that her face wasn't contorted in a furious scowl Harry could definitely see the resemblance to both their parents. Unlike him she was a more evenly distributed mixture of the two, with her father's hazel eyes and cheekbones and her mother's hair, chin and nose. Without magic swirling around her she suddenly looked young. Maybe fourteen, fifteen at best.

"Hi!" Harry ventured finally, when it appeared she wasn't going to say anything and they were just staring at each other. It came out more awkward than he intended.

The corner of Iris mouth lifted upwards ever so slightly until it could almost be called the seedling of a smile. "You're the Pretentious Twit?"

Harry blinked and then chuckled. "I'm not calling you Boss. That would be awkward."

For a moment longer they stared at each other until Harry finally regained his bearings and gestured at the comfortable armchairs by the merrily crackling fireplace. "Come in, take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?" He busied himself closing the trapdoor that still lay open and resetting a couple of knick-knacks that had toppled at the force of Iris' fury.

"No, that's quite all right," she said quickly. She scurried over to the closest chair and flopped down in it, never taking her eyes off him. Hesitantly Harry sat down in the next seat over.

"Thank you, Dobby," he said in an effort to be polite and not sure what to say to his counterpart now that she was actually here. "You were a great help."

The elf ignored him. "Is Great Miss Iris Potter ma'am needing anything?"

The byplay made her frown but she nevertheless shook her head. "No, little man. Thank you."

Dobby looked dubious, but with the knowledge that his preferred mistress had no need for him at the moment he popped away, leaving Harry and Iris seated by the fire in an awkward silence.

"So," she said, clumsily clearing her throat. "Sorry for barging in like an angry harpy."

"It's all right," Harry said, waiving it off. "You were upset. I was actually just trying to invite you to come talk to me before I had Dobby deliver the letter."

He blinked and his cheeks heated up a little as he noticed the crumpled balls of parchment on the floor. Feigning nonchalance he swept his wand, banishing all the failed and now unnecessary invitations into the fireplace.

"Oh," she said in a small voice, sounding rather unsure. She fidgeted with the lining of her skirt before blurting, "So is your name really Potter?"

Harry drew in a slow breath while his mind whirled. His first instinct, born from concealing his identity from everyone for the past two months screamed at him to lie. Yet, a small part of him remembered his original decision to contact her. He'd thought she'd be the one person that could understand. And he so very much wanted her to be.

Besides, what _had_ he planned to do after she accepted his invitation?

"Yes," he breathed, throwing caution to the wind, "My name is really Harry Potter. And you are now the second person in this world that knows. Everyone else thinks I'm called Harry White."

"Oh," she said again, sounding a little overwhelmed. "Were you going to tell me?"

"I think so," Harry answered with a wry smile. "I've wanted to be honest with you from the first letter I sent, but at the same time I have secrets that I don't want shared with anyone else so I was reluctant to share anything without your promise, or a chance to convince you face to face."

"Does it involve an explanation why I was forced to live with the Dursleys all those years instead of with you?" she asked, hugging herself tightly as if ready to ward off a blow.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and smiled sadly as he realised why she was as upset as she was. Two months at the Dursleys had probably brought up a lot of bad things, topped off by the open hatred of much of Wizarding Britain. Finding a Potter in hiding that could, no should have taken her in, maybe shelter her from the worst of it but had apparently chosen to reject her instead must sting a great deal.

"It's a long story," Harry warned. "Is anyone expecting you back?"

She shook her head before drawing up her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Curled up like that in the overly large chair it made the tiny girl look even smaller than she was in reality.

Somehow the sight relaxed him, making it seem like he was about to recite a fairytale to his little sister by the fire before bedtime instead of divulging all his life-altering secrets to a stranger on their first meeting.

"Right, well, it all started when Voldemort captured Trelawney back in June and learned the prophecy. Dumbledore panicked and in an example of extremely bad timing got his hands on a book that described how to call on someone in another world. Somehow-"

"The Black Library?" Iris asked, before blushing. "Sorry, go on. And what do you mean another world?"

"No, what's that about a Black Library?" Harry asked, interested. He'd never heard of it before.

"Oh, just that, before she died, Sirius mother hid their library with a bloodline curse to make sure nobody could find it as long as Sirius or any of his descendants were still alive. She really, really hated him." Iris sighed, looking forlorn. "It was found early this summer. Dumbledore mentioned it."

"That might be where he got the book then," Harry mused. "The timing fits."

Was there more information available on these kind of rituals that the Order was hiding? Apparently there was at least more reading material where that book came from.

A solitary tear streaking a path down Iris' cheek as she stared unseeingly in the distance drew him out of his thoughts, though she didn't make a sound. The poor kid. Sirius death was still so very fresh.

"Say, what do you think Padfoot would have done with a pile of books gifted to him by his mum?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I'm thinking a nest and lining for his doggie bed. Or kindling, that always works."

Iris looked shocked for a moment and then let out a small giggle. "Nah, toilet paper. He'd christen it the Noble and Ancient loo roll of the House of Black." The thought of Sirius' unique brand of humour seemed to spark a whole host of others and she perked up as her imagination burst to life. "He'd learn origami, just so he could fold each and every carefully preserved page into muggle animals!"

Harry smiled indulgently as she lost herself in happier thoughts and memories of her godfather. It was a much better look on her than the sad little waif act she'd been reduced to before.

"Anyway, that doesn't matter right now. Dumbledore got the book and somehow he convinced the Order to enact the ritual. In a mess of blood and pain they yanked my carcass all across the multiverse from my dimension into this one. Madam Pomfrey had a hell of a time keeping me alive and I woke up more than a week later with no idea what was going on and talking to dead people."

He shook his head. "Merlin, it was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. They tried to skip over what they did to me and happily talked about how I would help them defeat Voldemort, who had been killed a while back for me. Naturally going through that hell a second time seemed like a bad idea. Then I found out I could never go home. Needless to say, I didn't take it well.

"Moody cursed me in the back before they drugged me to keep me there and ask me questions. Even brought out a sodding lie-detector too, just in case it wasn't invasive enough. Before they did, though, I managed to give them a false name."

He met her eyes and held them. "Please, please don't tell them that. They would turn from persistent to relentless in an instant and I would never get another moment of the tentative cease-fire we have now."

Iris agitatedly ran her fingers through her long red hair. With a jolt Harry recognised the familiar gesture as one of his own, though she had far more hair to play with.

"Do you understand how insane all of this sounds?" she asked with a plaintive look, sounding frustrated. "Different worlds, rituals, the Order committing crimes. For crying out loud you make Dumbledore sound like a Dark Lord!"

Harry snorted. "Oh, it gets worse. How do you think I got the Potter name?"

She looked uncomprehending. "From your parents?" Her eyes widened and her face blanched as the truth dawned.

"No way," she breathed.

"Oh yes. Born July 31st, 1980 to James and Lily Potter; Harry James Potter, at your service." He mock-bowed from his chair before shooting her a long long. "When you kill Voldemort, do you know what your reward is? You get yanked to another world where they try to make you do it all over again."

Iris gaped, beyond words, and for several minutes the pair sat in silence.

Finally her eyes roamed over his face before she said hesitantly, "You don't look a lot like me."

With a start Harry realised he was still wearing the glamour he'd put up before dinner. Little wonder she had trouble believing him.

Closing his eyes, he mentally focussed on the face he still hoped to see every time he looked in the mirror, bright green eyes over protruding cheekbones, surrounded by unmarked skin, barring a faded lightning bolt scar on his brow. He twirled his wand through the complex motions and softly spoke, "_Levismutaspectio_."

Iris gasped, prompting him to open his eyes again and watch her stare at him, enraptured.

"This is what I used to look like," he said softly. He almost expected her to remark on his looks the way everyone else did, but realised she'd never seen their parents in anything but a few small pictures. He sighed. If anyone might appreciate that old line, it would be a daughter to the same people. "I'm told I look exactly like dad, except I have mum's eyes."

Hazel eyes widened even further, filled with a deep longing that resonated with something deep inside him. There was nothing more important to a neglected orphan than anything that reminded them of their parents and a child of theirs that had their looks hit almost every button in existence. He helpfully took off his glasses and let her take her time in cataloguing all of it. Her eyes hungrily roamed over his face with renewed vigour, devouring every inch in sight until they finally drank their fill.

"Wait a second," she said after an introspective silence. Harry placed his glasses back on his nose to see her looking at him questioningly. "Did you just put _on_ a glamour to show me what you look like?"

His face abruptly turned to a scowl and with a snarl he spoke the counter for his glamours twice in quick succession.

Iris flinched back in her chair looking horrified, a hand covering her mouth as she stared at the ruins of the face she had just spent a long time lovingly inspecting.

"This is what happens when Dumbledore decides he needs a bloody hero," he said harshly. "Dark magic scarring. Nothing can be done. When I say I arrived in a bloody mess, I mean that literally."

Lost in his dark thoughts, it took him a moment to realise Iris was reduced to the scared waif-like state he'd only just coaxed her out of and bile rose in his throat when he realised what he'd done.

Merlin. He'd played up the family angle, building trust, emphasised the resemblance to his _and her_ parents. Looking exactly like her father and then destroying that face, cutting it to ribbons in front of her until nothing but a damaged mockery was left was so thoughtless it bordered on cruelty.

Bloody hell, he was an arsehole.

Carefully he restored the glamour he'd created that afternoon before slowly getting out of his chair to kneel in front of her. Her eyes followed his every movement like a cornered animal, but thankfully she didn't flinch back further and he reached out to put his hands on the armrests on either side.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I am obviously still angry at Dumbledore for what they did to me, but I should not be taking that out on you. You've actually been one of the nicest people I met in this world. I really enjoyed writing to you."

The corner or her mouth lifted up infinitesimally and she relaxed slightly. "Your letters were a godsend. I was going crazy in that house."

Harry smiled sadly. "I know. I _remember_."

Her eyes widened. "You grew up in that house too." She gasped. "How similar are our lives if you're... well, you know... me?"

"Very." He hesitated for a moment and then stood up to ruffle her hair, chuckling when she bristled in outrage but otherwise relaxed completely. "We're not the same people, obviously, but mostly our histories are the same up until this summer."

"Dudley and the pig's tail?" she asked eagerly.

"Went well with his squealing at the time. Hagrid calmly cooking sausages after was blatant psychological torture now that I think back on it."

She giggled. "Ron and Hermione?"

Harry grinned right back. "A friendship cemented in troll boogers."

She bit her lip and then stared questioningly at his lower left arm. For a moment Harry didn't understand what she was getting at and then she rolled up her own sleeve and he got it.

"We really are the same," she said with awe as she looked at their arms laying side by side on the armrest, both adorned with a large circular scar where enormous basilisks had bitten them.

"From what I can figure out, when it comes to the big things, yes we are. Except, of course that I'm older than you by more than two years."

"That's right," she said with sudden excitement. "You've done all this before. You know what's going to happen. You know how to kill Voldemort!"

At that, Harry sighed. "Unfortunately it's not that simple. First of all, our two worlds diverged rather dramatically at the beginning of summer. The prophecy never got out back home and that had so many impacts it's not even funny. Things are getting more and more different every day."

"Secondly, not all was roses and sunshine. When I say that the Dark Plonker was defeated you need to understand how bad things had already gotten. By then Death Eaters had stormed Hogwarts, killed Dumbledore, took over the Ministry in a bloody coup, were in charge of the country for almost a year, killed half the Muggleborns and blood-traitors – I kid you not, they sent out hunting parties. They stormed Hogwarts a second time when we took it back from the Death Eaters they had teaching there and killed half the people on our side in the final battle that followed. Wizarding Britain was a mess and that's putting it lightly."

"Thirdly," he continued, not allowing her to get a word in edgewise and trying not to wince at the way her face had paled, "the way that bastard died was the result of the dumbest fucking plan ever imagined. Nobody should attempt to repeat it, which is lucky for us because by all rights you can't. The recipe was basically hopes and prayers interspersed with a whole lot of jumping through hoops, which all might have blown up in your face at any moment. The journey is still not as insane as the goal though. No, that's like handing Voldemort a nuclear weapon with an off-colour limerick engraved on the detonator in the hope that it'll distract him from actually setting it off!"

He was pacing now, long held frustrations finding an outlet at finally having someone listen to him rant, even if his audience looked taken aback and intimidated at the fire in his voice.

"Finally," he said with more reluctance but knowing it needed to be said, "this war was not my problem until the Order dragged me into it. Rewarding them for that by doing everything I can to fight Voldemort, possibly getting myself killed in the process is just wrong."

Iris winced at every new point he brought out, each of his arguments hitting her like physical blows dashing her newly rekindled hopes. At the last, however, her eyes narrowed and she bristled.

"That's childish!"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. And I'm not saying I won't take potshots if I see an opportunity. But be honest, why do you fight Voldemort?"

She glared at him. "Because he killed my parents! _Our_ parents!"

"True. Which is why I fought him back home. And when I watched the life leave his eyes I finally got justice or vengeance or whatever you want to call it for all of them. But being here? Facing another Voldemort? It feels like the Order resurrected him for me just so I can go through all that torture again. I won't have it."

Iris crossed her arms and his features took on a stubborn scowl. "It's still childish."

Harry shrugged again. "Like I said, maybe. But it is also similar to having to pay the Dursleys a million pounds to reward them for their neglect and abuse of you when you were younger, because that toughened you up and without it you may not have survived your Hogwarts years."

The outright arctic glare she shot him at the very notion may have been evidence he was finally getting through to her, but the stubborn scowl remained. The idea of not fighting Voldemort with all she had was probably heresy to her. It had been to him, after all.

He sighed. "Look, this is a big issue and we're not going to hash it out in a few minutes. You've just had a heap of information thrown at you and frankly, it's getting late."

Indeed, they had been talking for hours at a time when she was already supposed to be in bed.

"I'm not just going to let this go," she warned.

"I figured that, but can you at least promise to keep my secrets? Apart from everything else you have to agree with me that I have very good reasons for keeping my last name to myself."

She mulled it over for a minute before announcing, "I'm going to talk to Dumbledore."

"You can't!" Harry cried out. "He'll dose me with Verita-"

"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," she overrode him loudly, shooting him a scathing look that plainly told him to let her finish or there would be consequences, "and confront him about what he did to you because I want to hear his side of the story. I believe you," she said hastily when he moved to object, "but I still want to hear him say it. And don't worry about me automatically taking his side either. We're not exactly on good terms at the moment." She struggled for words for a moment before helplessly shrugging. "But he's still Dumbledore. He must've had a reason."

Harry sank back in his chair, letting out a long breath as he watched her struggle to realign her beliefs in Dumbledore's character with what she learned of the man's actions.

"I get it," he said sadly. And he did.

Had he not, himself, followed the man's every order even after his corpse had been entombed for months? For Merlin's sake, his trust had run so deep that he'd accepted walking to his death on nothing but a second-hand account of the man's plans.

"Just promise me that you won't tell him who I really am," he begged.

"I won't."

"Don't look him in the eyes either."

"You think he might use Legilimency on me?"

"I wouldn't put it past him. My opinion of him is at an all-time low right now."

She looked sceptical but nodded nevertheless.

"Wait, what will you say when he asks how you found out?"

She blinked and said slowly, "I'll tell him you told me."

"But why would we even have spoken? As far as he knows our paths have never crossed and it might make him suspicious enough to dig deeper."

She shrugged casually. "I'll lie and say I had questions about the prophecy and thought a second opinion might be useful."

Harry blinked and the vice around his heart loosened a little. "You'd lie to him for me? Not just omit things, but outright lying, just like that?"

Putting her hands on her hips in a scolding pose that girls seemed to know instinctively she glared at him. "Let me get one thing straight. I just spent more than two months locked up at Durzkaban. Things looked to be just as bad as always and in some ways worse. But then a house-elf showed up and for the first time I had actual food to eat. I had access to a phone to speak to my best friend. And I had a pen-pal who kept my spirits up with a letter every other day."

She took two brisk steps and poked him in the chest with an outstretched finger. "I owe you, I believe you and I think what the Order did was wrong. That doesn't mean I don't want to hear their side of things, but any urge I might have about not lying to Dumbledore suddenly feels much less pressing."

Harry stared at her, bemused, before simply saying, "Thank you."

Iris huffed in response. "I'm going to bed."

She marched over to the trap door before hesitating at the edge of it and asking, "Can I ask one more question?"

Harry watched the sudden nervous behaviour with a small smile on his face. "Shoot."

"Why Divination?"

Harry blinked and then let out a low belly laugh. "I was lying about whatever I could get away with when McGonagall asked what I was good at. I thought Divination might piss her off most and I had truthfully brought a prophecy to fruition so I wasn't really lying." He shook his head with a fond smile. "They ended up blackmailing me to teach here, but seeing McGonagall scowl every time she lays eyes on me is kind of funny."

"But..." She sputtered. "Divination?"

Harry smiled a small secretive smile. "Trust me, kid. It's turned out to be a lot more interesting than I originally suspected."

* * *

The following morning dawned far too early and Harry had to drag himself downstairs for breakfast, not wanting to gain a reputation as a recluse like Trelawney had. Absent-mindedly he almost ambled over to the Gryffindor table before remembering that was no longer his place.

All the Heads of House were busy handing out timetables to their students so Harry was forced to find someone new to talk to or sit all by himself. He ended up inelegantly plopping down on a chair next to Rolanda Hooch with a grunt. She eyed him with a grin.

"You look like you're ready for your first class," she said dryly.

"Ugh," he said intelligently, shovelling eggs onto his plate and searching for the bacon. He groaned when he saw it all the way over near the Headmaster's throne without anybody in between to pass it on.

Feeling too lazy to walk over and get it, he instead levitated it over to him just as Dumbledore reached out a wrinkled hand to snag a strip.

Ignoring the old man's disgruntled looks Harry layered a pair of crispy strips on a piece of toast and took a satisfying bite, moaning for effect.

Hooch looked at him, dumbfounded. "You stole the Headmaster's bacon."

"Really?" Harry smiled lazily, radiating smugness. "It tastes twice as good now."

For a moment the light dimmed as hundreds of owls came soaring through the open windows in a cacophony of hoots and flapping wings. Like a wide-spread bombardment they dove for students at every table and one of them made its way to Harry. He gratefully relieved it of its letter and shared some of Dumbledore's bacon with the bird.

"Anything interesting?" Hooch asked.

Harry's eyes quickly flitted over the short note and he hummed non-committally. "Just confirmation of an appointment with..." - what was Tonks to him now and what did the Order think they were? - "an acquaintance tomorrow evening."

Hooch was distracted from answering when, instead of calming and soaring right back out the window, as was normal, a large group of owls clustered together and headed for the Gryffindor table to perch around Iris Potter, fighting each other to be the first to deliver their letters and packages.

The girl watched it happen with a look of dismay before she blanked her face and mechanically started untying letters, setting the owls free.

It was only when the first shouting voice blanketed the hall that Harry realised a lot of the envelopes were red.

"-YOU A WITCH OR A MUGGLE?"

"MY SON DIED BECAUSE YOU-"

"-PARENTS ARE ROLLING IN THEIR GRAVES-"

"-YOUR FATED DUTY, YOU LAZY BITCH!"

On and on a multitude of voices screamed in an outburst of hate that had even yesterday's scowling and muttering students taken aback at their viciousness. Iris bore it stoically though she smiled wanly when all her friends around her gripped her arms and shoulders in a display of comfort and solidarity.

"Was there something in the Prophet this morning?" Harry asked, watching the frankly revolting scene with incredulity.

"Nothing beyond what they've been printing for months now," Hooch said sadly. "I suspect we'll be getting a lot of this. Might be worth it to get up half an hour earlier to miss the drama."

Harry choked on his toast. "Right. Because this is a major inconvenience to _us_."

She nodded emphatically, completely missing the sarcasm and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Look on the bright side. If we're here earlier there'll be enough bacon without having to steal it."

* * *

Harry watched the minute hand on his watch reach the top, signifying it was nine a.m. and time for his first class to start. Getting up from behind the desk he tried as best he could to force down his nerves, or at least not display them for all the boys and girls to see.

"Good morning class," he greeted the fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. "I am Professor White."

It was only now that he addressed them that he noticed the large number of empty seats. At a second, confused glance it turned out that none of the students present were wearing yellow and black. His voice faltered.

"Does anyone know where our Hufflepuff contingent is?"

Various negative murmurs were his answer, except for a bright-eyed girl sitting by herself, who remarked, "Candice is missing too, sir. Candice Young."

Harry sighed in exasperation and sat back behind his desk. "Very well, we'll give them a couple more minutes to turn up."

It was a bad start to his first class, but all the same he didn't want to begin his career by dismissing half his students as unimportant enough to miss or land the lot of them in detention.

Idly he played with the crystal ball on his desk, in all honesty whiling away the time by nervously fidgeting. The crystal felt cool and smooth in his palms, the sensation familiar after hours and hours of practice with this thing and Harry automatically felt his mind calm the way it usually did during a vision.

He didn't pick up his wand – the only question on his mind right now was where his students were and he was not _that_ desperate to know – but nevertheless let the comforting feeling wash over him.

It was a harmless action, which is why he almost jumped out of his seat in surprise when a sudden image of a pack of puppies yipping and barking at a closed door flashed across his vision, gone as suddenly as it appeared.

"Gah," he exclaimed, jerking his hands away from the crystal, before his mind automatically started interpreting the vision, rendering an obvious conclusion. "Oh, for crying out loud."

He stalked forward to the pensieve placed in front, ready for him to show show it off later and muttered irritably as he removed the memory of the vision from his mind and flung the short silvery strand down in the bowl.

"This is a pensieve," he explained shortly, every eye on him as he started tapping runes on the side with his wand. "It allows one to view memories, like the one I just put in."

With a flash the memory was projected over the bowl, visible for everyone in the room and Harry waited for the vision before he paused it. The vision was so short, however, that he paused it too late and, ears burning, he had to start over. The second time he did manage and the whole class was presented with the still image of Professor White hunched over his desk. Harry fiddled with another of the runes and suddenly the image zoomed in on the crystal ball as seen from his memory's point of view, revealing the vision of a pack of dogs and a closed door.

Casually checking that everything was working right, he could see a few more details that he had originally missed, such as that the door had no handle but was covered in a little dog slobber, that the majority of the puppies had yellow and black collars and that only a few of them were barking while the rest stood back.

"This is a memory of a vision I had literally seconds ago. Talk amongst yourself, deducing what it means while I go get our wayward students."

Leaving behind a group of wide-eyed children Harry stalked up the stairs, all the way to the top while he mulled over the repercussions of what had just happened.

The vision had appeared without him priming the crystal ball. He hadn't expected such a thing to happen for a long time yet, if ever. Oh, he knew it was possible, but having had such trouble trying that very thing as a student he was honestly content with seeing anything at all, no matter how many spells he had to use to get there. On top of that, every time he caught himself wondering about the strength of his inner eye he felt like whacking himself over the head, afraid his common sense might dribble out of his ears if he kept up that way of thinking.

That his skill at Divining had advanced to the level where unprimed crystal-gazing was possible was a clear sign that his inner eye was growing practised, though. An unbiased observer might even call that progress.

He reached the top of the tower, huffing slightly from the speed he had run up the many steps, just in time to see one of the Hufflepuffs that should be in his classroom throw a bloodyBlasting Curse at his front door. It didn't do anything of course, exploding harmlessly against the overlaying wards, but it was the principle of the thing.

"What do you think you are doing?" he cried out.

The sudden appearance of a yelling teacher badly startled the lot of them and his harsh breathing may have given them the idea that he was more angry than he really felt.

Either way, the boy that had thrown the curse flinched backwards as if struck and reflexively cried, "You wouldn't let us in!"

Harry just stared at him with his shoulders squared, lips pressed together tightly and looking down across the bridge of his nose at the boy as if he were a miserable specimen of some kind of fungus that had the sheer effrontery to get caught under the sole of his boot.

Inwardly he was chortling, thinking that this was what Snape or McGonagall must feel like on a daily basis, but he didn't let that show, instead choosing to impart a Lesson.

"I did not let you in," he said slowly, "because I was in my classroom, _which is not here._" He took a single step forward and the boy actually whimpered as he further shrunk in on himself. "Furthermore, forcing yourself into my living quarters the way you were attempting just now is called breaking and entering. Try it again and I'll give you so many detentions your grandchildren will barely see your face."

He stared the boy down for a second longer, before smoothing over his face and presenting a calm facade once more. "Ten points from Hufflepuff."

Then he turned away from the trembling boy completely, dismissing him and allowing him to regain his composure at the same time. He smiled gently at the rest of the wide-eyed children and said kindly, "I take it that the notice of the Divination classroom moving did not make it to the badgers' sett?"

For the first time he noticed Brian Henderson was among them and the boy's eyes lit up when Harry noticed.

Whatever Brian saw there must have given him a little courage, because he stepped forward to answer for his classmates. "No, sir. Which is why we were worried when half our class seemed to be already inside but we couldn't get in ourselves."

"That's all right. Mistakes happen. I think Miss Young" - the only Ravenclaw student in the group squeaked when he addressed her by name - "does have the correct classroom listed on her timetable but she probably forgot to check and simply followed the crowd?"

She nodded hesitantly, but relaxed when he smiled back at her.

"Well, let's solve our problems then."

He conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, scratching a note that _The Divination classroom has moved to the base of the tower._ He enlarged it to the size of a small sail and hit it with a sticking charm before floating it upwards until it stuck to the ceiling, clearly readable for everyone but leaving the trap door free for his use.

"That's one," he announced. "Now let's get to class."

Like a group of ducklings they followed in his footsteps down the many staircases. He held the door open for them, letting them trickle in one by one until only he and Brian were left in the hallway and he held up his hand to hold him back.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, looking him up and down for any sign the the ordeal this summer had left their mark on the boy.

Brian swallowed and shuddered in remembrance but a small proud smile lit up his face. "My mum is awesome. I wasn't doing too well, but she talked to me for a long time and helped me see things differently. We kicked Death Eater arse, didn't we?"

Harry snorted. That was not the attitude he'd been expecting. Last he saw Brian was messed up beyond recognition, but apparently his mother really was a miracle worker. "That we did, kid."

"Yeah. I'm not allowed to swear, but mum made me say that over and over, day after day until I believed it." Brian's smile faltered a little. "He got free again, though, didn't he? Locutio."

Harry sighed and pursed his lips. Him, along with every other Death Eater the DMLE had put on ice. Still, lingering on that thought that was not the way to get a teenager over his trauma, even if he was doing surprisingly well.

"The important thing to remember is that Locutio was outed as a terrorist. He may not be in Azkaban, but at the same time he can't show his face in public either. At least not without Aurors swarming down on him."

Brian let out a relieved breath and Harry gave him a small push towards the open door.

"Come on then. Let's not keep the others waiting any longer."

To Harry's surprise, instead of sitting at their desks obediently writing down their observations or standing close to the pensieve to get a better look, the Ravenclaw students were standing around the marble pedestal in a wide circle, some with their wands out but all of them eyeing it warily, leaving a six foot wide clearing as if it was a vicious animal that might attack. The latecomers had felt the tense atmosphere in the room, saw where their fellow's attention was and had clustered together immediately, staying far away from the foreign object.

"Professor!" one of the Ravenclaws cried in relief when they noticed him enter. She pointed at the pensieve. "It ate Jeanine!"

Harry rolled his eyes and approached, the circle of students parting before him.

"Don't worry, it didn't 'eat' Jeanine," he corrected her gently. "A pensieve allows one to actually enter a memory and walk around in it. That is, however, not practical in a classroom setting, which is why I chose to project it above the bowl. Now, why don't you all find your seats while I go fetch Jeanine so that we can finally begin the lesson, hmm?"

Not waiting for them to follow his order he simply touched a finger to the bowl and was instantly sucked inside, falling to the floor of the paused memory of his own classroom.

A second later the missing fourteen year old girl ran over to his side with a relieved cry, "Professor!"

"Hello, Miss. I see you found out how to enter a memory and not just view it like a photograph."

"I didn't mean to, sir," she said nervously.

"That's all right. I didn't tell you you shouldn't after all." He tapped his chin with his finger. "Actually, I'm quite impressed you kept your calm and instead of doing something... unwise, like firing off Blasting Curses."

"I am a Ravenclaw, sir," she said, insulted. "Acting unwise is against our nature."

Harry grinned at that, before taking her by the hand and helping her exit the pensieve. Finally, with every one of his students present he could begin his planned lesson.

Strangely, he was feeling much less nervous now.

"Let's try this again," he said with a small smile. "Good morning class, I am Professor White. After that rather unorthodox start, let me quickly call roll, collect your summer homework and then see how much you picked up on in the vision you just studied..."

* * *

**A/N:** There, there. The resolution to last week's cliffhanger. You can all calm down now. Boy, it's satisfying to get so many responses, if only because it reinforces the notion that people are emotionally invested and care what happens next. It's really flattering. Also slightly worrying because suddenly I have expectations to live up to. Did I do good?

Yay, the long awaited meeting between Iris and Harry, even if it _has_ taken fourteen chapters and a hundred thousand words to get there. Excuse me while I do a little dance at reaching that milestone. Harry finally gets to use that dratted 'looks like your father, with your mother's eyes' line on someone else. Badly. And he ends up almost traumatising the poor girl. Is that lampshading a cliche? Reversing it? I'm confusing myself.

And... Harry's first day of class! You didn't think that would be any kind of conventional lesson, did you? Puh-lease. He wouldn't know conventional if it spit him in the eye.

Recommendation of the week: On a Pale Horse by Hyliian. It's... different. Though Harry does get summoned by the Order in the hope he'll do their bidding. And he has a dimensional counterpart. Of sorts. Yeah, it's just like 0800-Rent-A-Hero. Really, the two stories could be identical twins for all their similarities. Snigger.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	15. Sir, there is no need to yell

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 15 – Sir, there is no need to yell**

"I thought you agreed that getting here earlier for breakfast would be much more calm," Rolanda Hooch remarked when Harry plopped tiredly into the chair next to her on Tuesday morning.

"I always thought teachers were sadists," he grunted in reply, squinting through lidded eyes as he sought some tea to wake him up, "but I never imagined the level of self-harm involved in setting homework."

Hooch raised a solitary eyebrow on her forcibly blank face.

"Summer homework in large quantities is torture for both parties," he moaned.

She couldn't hold back a small snigger. "Do tell."

"I spent all night yesterday reading through some of the most dreadful made-up predictions you can imagine."

"Creativity is an important asset in a wizard."

"Not if it involves increasingly messy ways of dying."

"Oh dear." She covered her mouth with her hand, poorly hiding a grin. "Would you like some advice?"

He shot her a dark look that she ignored.

"I have it on good authority that the flying instructor never has anything to do with homework. No essays, no after-hour practicals, no error-filled reading, no marking-"

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in," he groused. "I'm going to have to buy red ink by the barrel."

"Oh, I never have to buy any of that either."

Harry viciously bit off part of a sausage.

For the second time in as many days breakfast was interrupted by a great many owls and this time Harry watched as a large minority clustered together like an enormous cannonball on a collision course with the Gryffindor table. Just before it hit it seemed to explode as owls veered off every which way, pecking each other and aggressively flapping their wings in a bid to be the first to reach Iris.

"Do you know the best part?" Hooch said quickly, rising. "My class isn't held anywhere near here."

Today's set of howlers exploded in a wall of sound and she waved with a cheeky smile as she hurried away from the noise.

Iris had a very good blank face but it was clear the hostility was getting to her. She was staring ahead, eyes unseeing, her shoulders slumped as the shouting washed over her. Unlike yesterday she stopped opening the letters halfway through the pile, instead letting them explode in fury on their own as if she lacked the energy to get it over with and was now resigned to the inevitable.

Harry put his fork down in disgust.

Really, the display was sickening. These were grown men and women venting their spleen on an innocent sixteen year old girl by proxy. They weren't brave enough to get out and do something about the Death Eater problem but shouting at Iris 'the Girl-Who-Lived' Potter like she was some disobedient dog seemed perfectly all right with them.

He suppressed his instinctual desire to practise incendiary charms on moving paper targets and instead chose to try and appeal to the humanity of those nearby.

"I can already see this is becoming a theme here," he said scathingly, loud enough for Dumbledore to hear over the uproar at the other end of the Hall. "Isn't there a way to put an end to this debacle so that we can eat in peace in the future?"

"What did you have in mind?" Dumbledore asked, peering inquisitively over his half-moon glasses.

"I don't know. Warding the castle against howlers seems like a good start."

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow. "That is rather a large amount of work. Adding such a ward to Hogwarts' already impressive array of existing ones is no simple feat. And I shudder to think of the lengths senders would go to voice their displeasure without the convenient outlet of a howler."

"I would think those rather impressive wards you're talking about are well suited to turning away unexpected visitors wishing to shout and yell in person. And even if they don't, the extra effort involved would see a sharp decrease in numbers, if nothing else."

"But that would leave a lot of people with complaints about such a controversial measure."

"So?" Harry said scathingly. "Rebut with a howler. See how they like it."

Dumbledore mulled over the idea for a while before shaking his head. "I am afraid the small gain in peace and quiet does not justify the sheer effort involved or the unpleasant consequences that would follow."

"You're going to do nothing?" Harry couldn't help but let a bit of his frustration bleed through in his voice. Iris looked so utterly resigned to being treated like garbage. Couldn't the man see that it was wrong?

"Not unless you could offer more sufficient motivation?" Dumbledore asked, trailing off with a significant lilt.

Harry stiffened. Sufficient motivation? Was he hinting about asking this for Iris' sake? Had Dumbledore found out about their connection? How? It made no sense. They weren't spied on in their meeting and their letters were never intercepted. So if the man didn't know he was asking for Iris' sake, then why...

Oh. For a price Dumbledore was willing to offer his services. A price like... working together with the Order, no doubt. Bastard.

"I rather thought a peaceful breakfast for over a thousand people was a lofty goal," Harry said with an ice-cold glare.

"It is," Dumbledore said, unruffled, "but no matter how distasteful, this phenomenon will end eventually. We will just have to endure."

"Laudable, I'm sure." Harry didn't bother hiding the scorn in his voice and shook his head as he rose. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to endure somewhere else."

* * *

The Three Broomsticks smelled as invitingly as ever and warm torchlight illuminated the natural colours of the simple wooden furniture while it reflected merrily off the polished cups and cutlery. Tuesday evening wasn't very busy but a respectable number of patrons sat chatting, eating and drinking, soaking up the atmosphere while Rosie bustled between tables, keeping everyone happy with a smile.

Tonks was already there, seated in a booth in the back, slouching against the wall while she tapped her brightly laced boots on the opposite bench in a nervous rhythm. For a change she was dressed in muted colours, though her black shirt had an eye-catching decal advertising the Weird Sisters in concert.

Harry took a deep breath to steel himself as he made his way over. Her betrayal still stung and even worse were the guilt and shame he felt about the fun he'd had with Amanda. No one should be allowed to make him feel bad about having felt happy.

If she wasn't his sole chance at getting some answers to a few very pressing questions he wouldn't be here. Sadly she was the only one in the Order that might give him a straight answer, so here he was. As long as he acted friendly like she hadn't stomped all over his feelings he should be fine.

Harry dropped down on the bench opposite her, startling her badly and her hair did an imitation of an exploding paint factory as it stood every which way and rapidly shifted through every colour in the rainbow.

"Hey stranger," she said nervously.

"You blend in well," Harry said neutrally, flicking his eyes up to her hair.

Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally as if she had expected him to yell and her hair stopped flicking through colours, settling at the familiar pink though it hung down over her shoulders instead of perkily pointing at the ceiling like she usually wore it.

"I'm like camouflage that way," she agreed. "Drink?"

He nodded. "Sure!"

"Rosie!" she called loudly and he leaned away from her as she weaved both arms like a crazy person, drawing the attention of half the tavern.

"What?" Rosie called back from across the room, just as loud. "I'm working here, you madwoman."

"No, you're flirting with every man in the place, but if you bring us two Firewhiskeys I won't act like the jilted lover I am."

Rosie tutted. "You couldn't handle me, Tonksie." She put an extra sway in her hips as she sauntered over, carrying the two drinks on a tray.

Tonks laughed throatily and got to her feet. Her skin seemed to flow and tan, her chin softened, her eyes and hair browned and suddenly a second Rosmerta was prowling towards the original. Her eyes glimmered in amusement as she moved in close... and snatched both glasses off the tray.

"You're a doll," she said, smiling triumphantly as she sat back down in her own form. This time her hair was the bright pink gravity-defying mop he remembered.

"How come I never saw your hair change before?" he asked curiously.

"What, like this?" Pink turned to gold and back. "I do have control, you know."

He frowned. "Doesn't it usually reflect your mood?"

"Ah, if I don't focus, yeah."

"So you were focussed all the time before? You don't seem like a very focussed person."

"Hey! I can be very focussed-"

"On anything else than innuendo and lurid comments."

"...I can be reasonably focussed when I want to be."

Harry shot her a sceptical look.

"Fine," she groused. "I cheated. How much do you know about metamorphmagi?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much." Otherwise he'd probably have spotted her before.

"Really?" It was her turn to be sceptical. "Well, my magic has an instinctual connection to my body. I'm in control of it, obviously, but it's closer to a reflex than anything else. You know how if you're boiling milk in a pan on a stove and you burn your hand you'll instinctively retract it before you even feel the heat?"

He couldn't help but scowl as he remembered Aunt Petunia's 'cooking lessons'. "Intimately."

"Right. Well, that's a reflex and my morphing is like that. But you can suppress reflexes as well. For example, if the milk is about to boil over, threatening to make a mess, you can still force yourself to pick up the hot pan and move it somewhere safe. That's my focus."

Harry nodded sagely. "I can see the link with you making a mess."

She swatted at him playfully. "Be nice. You're not completely wrong though. The point is, if the pan was hotter than you expected, you'll still instinctively retract your hand."

"So even if you're focussed on a morph, a surprise can force a change anyway?"

"Exactly! See, I could've been a teacher too."

"Yes, yes. If Hogwarts ever offers a course on corrupting innocent schoolchildren I'll be the first to recommend you."

"Oh, I don't think it would be the children at risk," she purred and smiled wickedly when Harry flushed.

"Is your morphing also why you're clumsy on occasion?" Harry said, floundering for another topic.

"I prefer locomotively challenged, but yeah. If I don't focus enough or if something overrides that focus my stride can suddenly lengthen an inch or my centre of gravity can move around. It's getting better as I age though; I'm like wine that way."

She waggled her eyebrows and Harry smiled, even as he shook his head. "So how did you hold a morph for that length of time?"

She shrugged. "A spell. It blocks my ability to morph, though it feels uncomfortable, like an itch all over. It's why I prefer the constant stumbling over using it all the time. Besides, I wouldn't lose the stumble if I didn't allow my ability to adapt."

"Huh, I never knew." She frowned and he eyed her curiously. "Is that the only downside to being a metamorphmagus?"

"No, it also inevitably creates problems with my boyfriends," she said grumpily.

Harry snorted; he couldn't help himself. "Do they ask you to change into other people for them? Enact their little fantasies? You seemed rather enthusiastic about being someone else with me-"

"What? No! They always complain about going shopping!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

She sighed dramatically. "What size clothes do you wear when you don't have a solid body? I end up fitting myself to my clothes instead of the other way around and when I lose focus I can tear right through them. Household Charms don't like me, so do you have any idea how many clothes I buy? Or how much that costs?"

He let out a startled laugh at her pouting.

They bantered back and forth and before Harry knew it an hour had passed, he had ordered a second drink and he was just having a good time with a friend.

He jolted in his seat when he realised she had put him at ease so much that he had forgotten why he was here. Had she done it on purpose? Was she _that _good at playing people?

"I've been learning a lot about rituals in the last couple of weeks," he said, his voice low and his face no longer smiling. "I rather hoped that you could answer a few questions for me."

She leant forward and dropped her voice as well. "About the one that called you here?" He nodded. "Sure. Shoot."

Harry suppressed the urge to swallow, trying not to let on how much the subject matter disturbed him. "I've learned that the effect of a ritual is directly proportional to the size of the sacrifice. Inter-dimensional travel is a rather big thing, so I have to ask, what sacrifice did you use?"

She blinked. "What, you think we bled dry a dozen virgins or something?"

Harry stared at her, not smiling.

"Merlin and Morgana," she breathed, blanching. "Do you really think so little of us?"

"I don't know what to think!" he whispered forcefully. "The Order has not exactly made a good first impression. Or a second. Or even a third."

"Yes, but..." She seemed lost for words.

"I take it you did not actually 'bleed dry a dozen virgins', then?"

"No," she said, her voice quiet. "We're not monsters and I'm really upset that you think we are."

"Then explain it to me. What did you do?"

Her eyes turned unseeing and the colour slowly bled out of her hair even as her voice gained a haunted quality.

"We'd been sitting at Headquarters for three days, watching as the world went insane. You-Know-Who had been spotted right there in the Ministry Atrium, my cousin was dead and not a day later that prophecy was published, dashing any hope of victory we had. The Wizengamot sequestered themselves behind closed doors, putting the Ministry leadership in a virtual lockdown and in the silence the public demanded their saviour step up, a hairsbreadth away from rioting while the Prophet fanned the flames. We had to post guards at Hogwarts just to keep her safe from the other students and bar entrance to the castle so outsiders couldn't get in.

"And then Dumbledore showed up. He'd been holding off the Wizengamot for two days straight without a moment's rest like a lightning rod holding back a thunderstorm; just him against a hundred and fifty of the most influential witches and wizards all demanding to sacrifice Iris as soon as possible. I've never seen him look so tired.

"He reported that You-Know-Who had almost succeeded. He'd stalled the political machine for now, but come tomorrow every witch and wizard on the British isles would clamour for Iris to fight until they would eventually come for her by force and make her. And Iris wasn't ready; she would never be ready.

"We argued then, about the prophecy. Couldn't someone take her place? What if Iris died, couldn't someone take her place then?"

"'Not a soul in this world can alter a prophecy once it is uttered,' were Dumbledore's exact words. I'll never forget them as long as I live, nor the look of defeat as he said it. That's when s- someone drew him aside for a private chat. When they came back Dumbledore suggested looking at other worlds."

"Who?" Harry asked with a dark scowl.

"What?" she asked, blinking as if waking from a dream.

"Who gave him the idea?"

She opened her mouth before her face contorted weirdly and she shook her head. "That's not important. He'd withdrawn to the... new library, sneering and muttering about the Dark Arts and we'd actually not seen much of him for those three days. But he'd seen the book about different worlds and in that desperate moment he offered it as a solution.

"We were all just so relieved when Dumbledore's eyes regained that twinkle and he relaxed like the years had washed off him. We agreed then and there to do the ritual the following day."

Harry stared. "That's it? No questions, no moral quandaries? You just moved right along and did it?"

Her shoulders sagged and her hair fell down limply once more. "There were questions, sure, but to be honest we were all just so happy that there was hope, no matter the source."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a pent up breath. "Let's move on. You've not mentioned a dozen virgins yet but I don't exactly feel reassured."

She smiled faintly. "Dumbledore studied the book and explained the steps to take. As soon as he mentioned the words 'Dark Ritual' Molly went up in arms. It was only Dumbledore's reassurances that made it palatable. You see, the original ritual called for a very big sacrifice – it takes an insane amount of power to open a rift between dimensions – but with a minor tweak we could change it to nineteen smaller sacrifices, one for each of the participants.

"I did not know that was possible," Harry said with both eyebrows raised.

"Nor did anyone else. But then, rituals aren't exactly common and most people had never even seen one before. Plus, he's Dumbledore. Who knows what kind of weird knowledge is scurrying around in that lemon drop fuelled brain of his."

"True," Harry mused. "What kind of sacrifices are we talking about here?"

"Well, the more personal the sacrifice the more powerful it is," she said hesitantly. "Plus, the ritual was centred around Iris, around someone to help her with the prophecy so the sacrifice needed a link to her as well."

"Like what?"

"Like an old music box," she said with a wistful smile. "Sirius, my cousin and Iris' godfather, gave it to me when I was four. I listened to it before bed every night for years." She shook her head to clear it, restoring her hair back to perky pink. "I'd come across it a while back and was planning to give it to Iris for her birthday to help her sleep and after he died to help remember him."

"Wait, you sacrificed... Iris' birthday present?"

"Quite literally," she said solemnly. "I did not get her another, sacrificing our pain at not giving and getting a gift respectively."

"Merlin, that's..." He couldn't quite find a word to describe his conflicting feelings until he finally said, "abstract."

"From what I understand, sacrifices always are. You can't really put a value on them."

She perked up then. "But it worked! Nineteen of us showed up at Hogwarts the next day, each of us with a sacrifice and after a bit of practice chanting we did the ritual."

"And you got me."

"Well, yes. More worryingly, though, you were severely wounded and that shouldn't have happened."

"Could Dumbledore have made a mistake when he made his 'minor modification'?"

"It's possible," she said doubtfully.

Despite his dislike for the man he couldn't help but agree with her misgivings. Say what you will, Dumbledore was highly intelligent and not prone to making mistakes. Plus, if there had been a mistake the Hogwarts elves would probably still be cleaning his blood from the walls.

He shook his head. "What were the other sacrifices?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. He shot her an incredulous look. "What? They had to be personal so each of us had to choose our own, right?"

"None of you collaborated or even shared ideas?" he asked, his voice rising.

"No?" she said in a small voice.

Dread pooled in his stomach. "Nineteen people," he whispered, "each of them responsible for powering their part with a sacrifice they don't understand and have no guidance for. It's a wonder the ritual worked at all."

Things suddenly clicked in his brain as seemingly unconnected facts bubbled up from the depths and a horrifying picture began to form in his mind's eye. "The Familiar Bonding ritual is one of the few legal rituals because if it goes wrong the wizard participating is safe; the ritual rebounds on the subject," he recited tonelessly. "Pain, flesh and blood are common sacrifices in the Darker Arts."

He closed his eyes. "Some of the sacrifices were insufficient but you willed the ritual to complete anyway. So it went for the only source of sacrifice available. Me. Not only did you rip me from my world, you used my pain and misery to pay for it!"

He could hear Tonks sputter, uttering doubts and platitudes but his gut told him his intuition was correct. How could it not be? He was Harry bloody Potter, the universe's chew toy. Being tapped as a literal source of misery should have been expected.

"All right, enough self-pity," he muttered before pinning Tonks down with a stare. "Congratulations, you've assuaged my worries that you're all monsters. Instead, you're absolute morons with the spectacular fortune of having me to bear the brunt of your stupidity."

She winced. "Would it help if I apologised again?" she asked with a sad, sheepish smile.

Harry snorted. "By this point? Not really."

They sat in silence, nursing their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Could you find out what the other sacrifices were?" Harry asked eventually.

"I can ask around." She tilted her head. "If we find the idiots responsible, what are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Hell if I know."

She nodded slowly. "And the ones that didn't, you know, screw up?" she asked with a tiny hint of hope.

Harry sighed. "You still kidnapped me Tonks. I'm slowly beginning to carve out a new life for myself but I can't just let that go. Especially as I keep finding new things the Order did _to_ me, but I have yet to hear of something they did in my favour."

"Oh," she said, looking at her hands, her hair wilting until it hid her face completely. "It's just... I had hoped, after you finally agreed to meet again and we had such fun earlier..."

"Originally I just intended to use you," Harry said with a sigh. He blamed the sudden decision to confess on the Firewhiskey; the sad sight she made or the good intentions she voiced did not make him feel sympathetic at all, no sir. "I was going to smooth-talk you into giving me the information that I wanted and that was it. I didn't expect to have fun."

She was quiet for a long while before finally asking, "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Amanda was fun. Instead I was meeting Tonks."

She parted her hair like a curtain. "Amanda is me, just with a different face. I told you that."

"I thought you were lying," he said with a shrug. "I'm beginning to see it now, though. The problem is, Amanda didn't have all this baggage. I'm not sure if I can move past that. Hell, I don't think I want to move past that."

"And if I did something to make it up to you?"

He ran his fingers through his hair before admitting quietly, "I don't think you can."

They sat in silence a while longer.

"Well this is fucked up," she mumbled, draining the last of her drink. "Did you at least get what you needed?"

"I think you made some exceptionally poor choices but I'm no longer convinced you're all monsters. Maybe just some of you." He remembered casting the Imperius Curse on an innocent goblin. "Then again I understand desperation. Transfiguring good intentions into red-hot bricks is surprisingly easy."

He tossed back the remainder of his own drink and rose. "It's been wild, Tonks. See you around."

* * *

The castle was fast asleep, it was too late for even the prefects to patrol, but there was one room where busy souls could always be found. No matter the time, the kitchens were a beehive of activity.

Harry politely declined about a dozen offers of various foodstuffs, bringing tears to the elves' eyes for not being able to serve before their lips began trembling when he thanked them for offering.

"Really, I'm fine," he said, exasperated. "I just need to use the table in the corner there and then I have a small request."

Eventually they left him relatively alone - "Not even a glass of water, Master Harry?" - and he was clear to scribble irritably away on a piece of parchment.

Shooting down Tonks and watching her cringe like a kicked puppy had made him feel like an arsehole and he didn't like it. Things were so much simpler when he thought she was just a bitch that had spied and lied and kidnapped him.

Those actions hadn't suddenly been erased, but it was looking more and more like she'd leapt without thinking like a Gryffindor and staying angry over something like that would be utterly hypocritical. As was holding a grudge over something she had never meant to happen. Merlin, hadn't he all but forgiven Malfoy after seven years of hateful slurs and several attempts at torture, including an Unforgivable?

No, he much preferred his lines clearly drawn and his world black and white.

Fortunately Dumbledore was still an egotistical prick, Iris was nice and he had come up with a plan to covertly help the one while sticking it to the other.

He checked the instructions he'd written down and hit the parchment with nine Duplication Charms, before stacking the ten identical parchments on top of each other. And then he hit that stack with nine more Duplication Charms and then he hit _that_ stack with another nine of the same.

"Master elf," he called out when he had a thousand copies, quickly firing off an Anti-Summoning Charm for good measure, "I would like for you to deliver these at breakfast tomorrow, one copy for every place setting. Ideally you would do so after the howlers have finished screaming at Iris Potter. Can you do this?"

"Of course, Master Harry," the elf said with a bow, before asking hesitantly, "Is you playing jokes like the Wheezy twins?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort," Harry said with a feral grin, already imagining the chaos. "I'm just doing my job."

* * *

Despite running on only a few hours of sleep Harry felt boisterous the next morning. He took the stairs down from his tower two steps at a time and had to restrain himself from grinning like a lunatic as he entered the Great Hall. Instead, he feigned a bored expression as he ambled carelessly to the head table where he took a seat next to Pomona.

"You have confused my students," she announced without preamble, not looking away from buttering her toast.

Harry blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She ignored him. "There is a story going around the sett about the scary new professor. Apparently he lit into one of my badgers, almost reducing him to tears, before their first class had even started." She frowned. "As it turns out they are quite used to such things due to Severus' attempts at becoming Hogwarts' most hated professor, but then you ended the altercation by taking only a few points and not drowning him in detentions like he expected before utterly dismissing him and being nice to the rest."

She turned to look at him for the first time. "Thus I repeat, you have confused my students."

Harry snorted and started piling food on his own plate. "I would offer to yell at the rest of them to lift their confusion but Professor Snape is quite welcome to his pedestal, thank you very much."

She grinned and suddenly the protective Head of House was replaced by the gossipy woman he had tentatively made friends with two days earlier. "What happened?"

"They thought my quarters still doubled as their classroom and that for some reason I wasn't letting them in." Taking a bite of scrambled eggs he thoughtfully mused, "You might want to work on their expectations if that's the first thought that crops up when faced with a closed door."

"You're certainly not helping by yelling at them for making an assumption," she retorted.

"Oh, I didn't yell at them for assuming I was discriminating. I cut one of them off at the knees for trying to force his way into my rooms with a Blasting Curse."

"And you only took ten points?" she asked wide-eyed, before she started chuckling. "Suddenly I can see where the confusion started."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't going to start my teaching career by cementing my image as the evil professor nobody likes. That said, I did mean to... discourage any future attempts."

"Well, you've done that all right. Congratulations, the rumour mill finds you confusing until further notice but absolutely frightening when riled."

"You know what? I can live with that."

Distracted as he was by the banter the entrance of the owls took him by surprise. He checked for red envelopes – there looked to be even more than yesterday – and he grinned in anticipation of what would be coming after.

"Are you enjoying this?" Pomona asked, frowning.

"The opposite, actually," he said, the smile dropping from his face. He shot her an appraising look. "What do you think?"

Her frown turned sad as she looked at the Gryffindor table and one redhead in particular. "There is no loyalty in isolating an already lonely girl burdened with the fate of protecting all of us."

Harry felt a pang of affection for this woman who, unlike the others, was not blind to the goings on around her. "Back me up then, would you?"

She shot him a questioning look but that was when the howlers exploded, filling the Great Hall with noise. Iris hadn't bothered to open a single one today. Instead she sat hunched over, her forehead resting on the table with her arms covering her head. Her small form was slowly being buried in confetti.

"What did you-"

A sheet of parchment appeared on top of every plate, regardless of the food currently on it. Ron looked particularly vexed as his had appeared just as he was about to spear a piece of sausage on his fork, leaving him waving the parchment around like a small flag. A surprised murmuring blanketed the Great Hall as people started reading.

Harry made a show of perusing his own parchment before tearing off a scrap, retrieving an inkwell and a quill from his pocket, demonstratively placing them within reach and writing a very short note.

"Oh, Merlin," Pomona groaned softly.

Harry ignored her and followed his own instructions to the letter, loudly casting three spells at the small off-white note – drawing everyone's attention – and watched with satisfaction as it elongated into a thin rectangle, turned fire-engine red and quivered with restrained energy. Calmly he levitated it and more than a thousand eyes watched it bob through the air, only to land on the Headmaster's plate.

Dumbledore's shoulders fell and Harry's howler burst to life.

"ALBUS! PASS ME THE BACON, WOULD YOU? HARRY WHITE."

Absolute silence followed.

The tension was almost tangible and people hardly dared breathe until a snort came from the end of the table and Hooch clapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. That didn't stop her shoulders from heaving with silent chuckles though and a moment later she had to give up altogether as she collapsed into hysterical laughter, mumbling something about, "stealing the Headmaster's bacon," in between gasping breaths.

It was like the floodgates opened as students scrambled for writing utensils, wearing wide grins and within a second another Howler took to the air from the Ravenclaw table. And a third. And a fourth. And suddenly, like a flock of exotic birds startled by a gunshot they rose everywhere.

Bedlam.

The noise from a few dozen letters screaming at Iris was nothing compared to the ground-shaking tremors produced by thousands of the things screaming at _everyone_.

Harry sat back with a broad grin to watch the chaos.

Pomona was watching wide-eyed while Filius was giggling in his chair, scribbling away himself. McGonagall tried to summon all the howlers to one spot but the majority of students had torn scraps from the instruction sheet like Harry had demonstrated and while she did set fire to a good few, the majority remained as they were.

Snape jumped to his feet, hands balled into fists and going red in the face as he screamed loud enough to send spittle flying from his lips, but his displeasure was nevertheless lost in the cacophony. Harry knew the man well enough to recognise the words, "a hundred points," passing his lips over and over.

Students didn't limit themselves to one howler apiece and each time one tore itself apart in a dramatic finish another took its place. Slowly but surely the Great Hall was buried in an inch of confetti.

Harry was startled by a wrinkled hand gripping his shoulder, but not as badly as when Dumbledore put up a Silencing Bubble around the pair of them and the extreme noise suddenly cut off. Instinctively he moved a hand to his ear, checking to make sure he hadn't just gone deaf.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Professor White?" Dumbledore said with an icy calm.

"Oh, I'm teaching," Harry said nonchalantly, wincing at his own volume and dialling it down. "I'm pretty sure the students didn't know those spells and after today I bet they will not forget them any time soon."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "I would prefer if you stayed within the bounds of the Divination curriculum in the future. Unless it has broadened significantly since my time, _that does not include howler charms_."

"But after having my breakfast interrupted by dozens of them day after day I figured they must be an essential part of life here!" Harry exclaimed, oozing fake worry and concern. "I just couldn't bear seeing so many students suffer in ignorance."

"Congratulations, you have succeeded." Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can only imagine the chaos if this behaviour should continue, which I suspect is exactly your point."

"Oh dear," he drawled. "If only there was a way to bar howlers from the castle."

Dumbledore sighed in resignation. "And if I simply start taking fifty points from every student that sends one?"

"I'll touch on the English language in my next lesson, starting with the word 'pseudonym', followed by 'untraceable'," Harry replied, not missing a beat.

The Headmaster peered down at him from over his half-moon glasses, looking disappointed and yet his eyes were twinkling madly as if he were pleased, or something. Harry hurriedly reinforced his Occlumency shields but he didn't feel any intrusion and the confusion didn't go away.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I cannot help but think your stated goal of becoming a popular professor is off to an auspicious start. A large prank on your third day, plus the gratitude of those prone to receiving howlers..." He paused significantly. "You may find yourself making fast friends among the student body."

He sighed then, and his look turned to one of grudging acceptance. "Well played, Professor White. I will add working on the wards to my already busy schedule."

Harry shrugged, completely unconcerned at making the man's life harder. "Generations of future staff and students thank you for their howler-free breakfast."

* * *

**A/N:** A long, long time ago in a headspace which, depending on your sanity, might be far, far away from your comfort zone I wondered about Harry and pranks. I've not pulled any myself and wondered if I lacked the imagination for it. A lot of fics describe rooms full of people of all ages descending into hysterics over... painting hair pink. Really? That's it? Anyway, that always seemed a little bland to me, so I came up with a howler prank. Loud noises and chaos do seem to go together well with teenagers, on top of perverting a dreaded punishment in a fit of rebellion. It was really exciting to finally get to write a scene that has existed in my mind far longer than even the inception of this fic. And it's not just a prank, it serves a _purpose_!

I'm sorry, but does there exist a Harry/Tonks story without the three step plan of 1) guys ask Tonks to morph into their dream girl; 2) Harry asks for her real form; 3) True love? Yeah, I will poke fun at that every opportunity I get.

What I found hilarious were your theories on the Order's sacrifice. I love feedback like that. Some of you got close with the thought of sacrifice being Harry due to the scarring but there were a few gems. The highlights:  
\- Exchanging Harry for Snape (very popular),  
\- Calling for a hero, only destroying any will he might have to help them,  
\- The Order's morals, a chunk of their lifespan, etc.  
\- Poor, poor Fawkes.

Thanks for that. Made my day many times over.

Recommendation of the week: Parallels by Bobmin356. Super Harry with a lot of emotional damage seeks his fortune in, you guessed it, another dimension. Not too serious (super Harry, duh) but it was a fun read nonetheless.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	16. Clearly your hero is settling in

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 16 – Clearly your hero is settling in**

"Welcome to sixth year Divination."

Harry looked around the sparsely filled classroom, taking in the small group of students wearing the familiar faces of what had been his year-mates back home. Lavender and Parvati he had expected. Neville was a bit of a surprise. Add a smattering of students from all the other houses and he was left with a much greather audience than he would ever have guessed.

Most notably, Iris wasn't there. Harry wasn't exactly surprised – never in a million years would he have continued the course after three years of Trelawney – but he nevertheless felt a small pang of disappointment. He would have liked the chance to teach his counterpart and get to know her better.

He shook his head and continued his lecture.

"Hogwarts hasn't hosted a N.E.W.T.-level course in Divination for centuries, so congratulations; upon graduating you will be pioneers in the field. By the time you sit your exams you will know the basics of Farseeing and Scrying, as well as incantless Divining. However, we will be starting with the Mind Arts." He looked around. "Any questions so far?"

Lavender's hand shot up. "Sir, are you a Seer?"

Harry sighed. "No, Miss Brown, I am not. To save time, neither am I a Prophet, an Oracle, a Clairvoyant or a Medium. Fortunately none of that is important, because I am a licensed Diviner."

"Professor Trelawney was a Seer," Parvati interjected, scowling.

"Professor Trelawney was a Prophet, as proven when she made the prophecy that's in the news," Harry corrected. "I do not now what Seeing talents, if any, she possessed."

"She did!" Parvati defended. "She told us!"

"Did she now?" Harry asked warily, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. "What form did her Sight take?"

"She could See the future," Lavender said reverently with a watery smile. "She always said her talents could be a burden. I just thought she meant knowing bad things would happen to other people, but she must have been talking about... about..." Her lower lip trembled as she trailed off.

Great. Not even five minutes in and the pretty blonde in the front row is reduced to tears.

"I am very sorry for your loss," Harry said awkwardly in the silence that followed. Parvati sniffed.

"She sounds like she was a gifted woman" - his voice came across a tad strained - "but fortunately while helpful, such talents aren't necessary to succeed in the field of Divination-"

"Of course they are, otherwise everybody would do it," Parvati said sharply. "Only those of us gifted with a clear and open Inner Eye have a hope of succeeding."

Harry stared at her for a moment, not sure what to do about the hostility. She obviously saw him as some kind of replacement for her beloved professor and no matter what he did he would be falling short by virtue of not being Trelawney.

"I think I will take that as a challenge," he said finally. "We'll look back on this in a couple of months and see what progress has been made."

Parvati snorted derisively. "There are boys in this class."

Harry was about to remark on her attitude when he stumbled over her words. "Er, what?"

"There are boys in this class," she repeated slowly as if talking to a particularly dim toddler.

Well, she was clearly looking for a fight.

Harry took a deep breath to keep his calm. "What has gender got to do with anything?"

"Professor Trelawney taught us that the gentler sex is more suited to demystifing the currents of the future," Lavender explained, her voice taking on a little of Trelawney's qualities as she clearly parroted the words. Parvati mouthed along – were they channelling the woman's ghost or something? – and finished by throwing him a heated, superior glare.

Harry stared at the pair of them before taking in the rest of the class, who were watching the argument with equal amounts of amusement and scepticism. "I am sorry to say that a crystal ball has very little in common with a Unicorn. There's no sharp points, they make terrible wand cores and they do not prefer girls over boys."

Parvati bristled. "What would you know? You'll never be even half the Seer she was."

"Didn't I just say that?" Harry retorted irritably. "I. Am. Not. A. Seer. Fortunately that doesn't matter-"

"You're lying and I can prove it!" She thrust out her hand, palm up. "Read my palm. Tell my future."

Harry narrowed his eyes but the girl was not backing down and that left him in a very awkward position. Refuse, and the tale of how he was a fraud would spread through the castle like wildfire. Accepting, however, meant allowing one of his students to order him about like a child, on top of forcing him to use sodding palmistry, which was one of the disciplines he hadn't practised much. After all, reading one's own palm was mostly useless and rarely surprising.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tone," he said sternly. Parvati scowled back at him, not showing a hint of remorse or backing down.

He sighed. "Fine. Come up here."

While she made her way to the front of the class he rummaged around in his desk drawers for a small tub of ointment that he'd barely used all summer. Palmistry wasn't to be taught until April so he thought he'd have time to practice later. Unfortunately, however, that meant that it might not work right now, leaving him humiliated and the prattish little girl feeling vindicated for all the wrong reasons.

Muttering curses under his breath he took two fingers of thick light brown cream and spread it all along his hands like liquid soap.

"What are you doing?" Parvati asked bewildered and not a little grossed out.

"Applying a palmistry salve," he explained with mock cheer, knowing it wouldn't mean a thing to her but his tone would piss her off.

"The Professor didn't need a salve," she muttered mutinously.

"No, but the Professor did explain to you how Divining is not always successful on command, did she not?" Harry asked sharply, causing her to flinch. "I am well aware what would happen should I not be able to read anything from your hand; my reputation would be in tatters before the hour was up. And yet, I cannot decline your 'request' since the outcome would be the same. As such, I am increasing the odds of success by using the salve." He shook his head. "I am making allowances for your grief, Miss Patil, but do not think my patience is limitless."

Putting the cap back on the tub he inspected his hands. The ointment had been mostly absorbed by the skin and the only sign he had applied it was a slight darkening of his skin colour, like a light, earthy brown suntan.

"Your hand please, Miss Patil," Harry said curtly. Parvati hesitated for a moment but her Gryffindor courage reasserted itself and she stepped forward to hold out her right hand.

Gently Harry took it in his left and peered at the well moisturised and lightly perfumed soft dusky skin of her palm. He took a deep breath before letting it out slowly, calming his mind and then faintly touched his right forefinger to the top of the long line starting between her thumb and index finger. With no more pressure than a feather he slowly trailed it across her palm, practically caressing it, all the way to her wrist, ignoring the way she shivered at his touch. Instead, he focussed on the slight tingling in his fingers caused by the salve that spiked now and then along the line.

"Your life line is riddled with strong changes," Harry muttered. "Here, and here in the past before showing turbulence not long ago and again in the future. They could mean injuries you have suffered or cataclysmic events..." He paused dramatically as he inwardly smirked. His inexperience at palmistry aside, fortunately he could fall back on the time-honed practice of cheating. After all, he knew this girl much better than she thought he did. He tilted his head and looked in her eyes as he concluded, "However, it would seem more likely that for you they signify relocation."

He poked at the first tingle in the upper third of the line. "You were born in India and moved to England a long time ago, yes?"

"When I was six," she agreed slowly.

Harry hummed and moved his finger lower. "And then you came to Hogwarts, where you were separated from your twin..."

"Everybody knows that," she said hesitantly, before jumping when Harry tapped her palm softly where her life-line showed turbulence.

"Not long ago you almost moved again, though," he commented. She remained silent and he took that as a victory. "And there is similar turbulence in your future, like a barely made decision that may still swing either way."

"I..." She stumbled and swallowed. "My parents didn't want me to come back this year."

Hah!

She was staring at him and the corner of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. "Are you convinced yet?"

Her brow furrowed and he gently released her hand. "Go find your seat and think on that, yes?"

Harry conjured himself a handkerchief and roughly wiped the ointment from his hands before turning back to the utterly silent class. Score one for the new Professor.

"Like I said, we will be starting with the Mind Arts, specifically Augeomency," Harry said as if nothing happened. "Now, who among you have heard of them before?"

* * *

"Sir?" Neville said hesitantly after class was over, lingering behind. "Could you maybe answer a few questions for me?"

Harry looked at the boy with blatant curiosity. Neville, not only studying N.E.W.T. Divination, but staying behind to ask questions? These dimensional differences were getting more interesting by the minute. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"Ah, you see... Well... Do you know about the Prophecy?"

"I know of several," Harry said dryly, "but I take it you're referring to the one in the paper?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

"I know of it and you're not the first with questions. What is it you want to know?"

Neville bit his lip and shuffled his feet before blurting, "I was born on July 30th, sir."

Harry's smile faltered. Of course. "I see. And I take it your parents opposed Vol- You-Know-Who on multiple occasions?"

Neville anxiously nodded his head and Harry sighed.

"Everyone with knowledge of prophecies will tell you that to take anything concerning them as certainty is folly. Could it have applied to you at one point? Probably. Having said that, Miss Potter surviving a Killing Curse is a rather strong sign that _something_ is different about her."

"So it's definitely about her, then?" To his credit, while Neville seemed relieved he wasn't exactly happy to hear that either.

"It is probably not about you," Harry corrected gently. "Miss Potter is a very likely candidate, nothing more."

Both were silent for a moment until Harry could no longer contain his curiously. "Was that the only reason you took this course?"

Neville flushed. "It was kind of a big one," he confessed. "My gran all but ordered me to take it seeing as how Divination might suddenly play such a big role in my life. But then I wasn't eligible for all that many N.E.W.T. classes in the first place so an extra option was welcome."

Harry snorted. "You took this class as a last resort?"

"Well, I mean... It's certainly interesting," Neville said quickly, making Harry chuckle.

"Relax. Wanting to earn a N.E.W.T. is a good reason for signing up, regardless of what led to the decision."

"Actually, I was really surprised today. I've never even heard of Farseeing, but the Mind Arts sound far more... reliable than what we learned for the O.W.L.s."

"Divination has its uses," he cautioned, thinking of his pensieve and how he got it.

"But it's not exactly dependable, right? I mean, you can't just ask for a way to kill You-Know-Who?"

Harry smiled sadly. "I tried that, actually. I didn't expect it to work, of course, but I would have felt bad if I could have fixed everything with two minutes of work and didn't. However, it did help save my life in a Death Eater attack in July."

"It did?" Neville asked, eyes wide. "Wait, you were attacked by Death Eaters?"

"They're very prejudiced against Divination Professors," he confided in a secretive whisper. "Don't worry; everybody got out okay."

"And Divination saved your life?"

Harry nodded. "A vision I hadn't understood before gave me inspiration for an idea that worked out. Without it maybe things would have ended differently. Or I would have come up with the idea anyway. Who knows?"

He clapped his hands to get rid of the gloomy mood. "Anyway, you are probably safe from the prophecy. All the same, I would not recommend slacking in Defense class. These are dangerous times."

* * *

"-and finally, I have added to the wards such that howlers are now stripped of their explosive enchantment," Dumbledore concluded the end-of-week staff meeting.

"Thank Merlin," Hooch muttered in relief and several of the others joined her in a quiet cheer, jumping to their feet.

Harry just gave the man a flat look. It was Friday afternoon, which meant it had taken the Headmaster less than three days to add that ward. So much for the purported extreme amount of effort and time involved.

"Ah, Professor White, stay a moment," Dumbledore called out.

Bugger. He should have run when he had the chance.

"I would like you to attend the next Order meeting," Dumbledore said without preamble when the other teachers had filed out.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I thought our agreement quite clearly stated my intentions never to do such a thing."

"You asked for no contact beyond the necessary minimum," Dumbledore corrected genially, "and we have honoured that request. However, in the last week alone you approached both myself and Miss Tonks on unrelated matters. Clearly you considered our old agreement concluded."

His blue eyes were twinkling and that damn beard twitched as if the man was hiding a smile.

"No," Harry growled.

"I'm afraid I must insist, Professor White. We will not force or even ask you to fight or do anything else you find objectionable. I simply desire your perspective on recent events, unique as it is."

"You're already asking me something I don't want to do," Harry said pointedly. "The answer is no."

"The conflict revolves around a prophecy which is clearly your area of expertise," Dumbledore pleaded. "One of its subjects is in this very school!"

Harry rapidly shook his head in denial. "Don't care. Paying too much attention to prophecy never ends well. Case in sodding point."

"You have a responsibility to the students-"

"Which doesn't include joining a secret paramilitary organisation with questionable morals! And Miss Potter is not my student."

Dumbledore sighed. "Is that truly what you are basing your decision on? Do you care so little what happens to her?"

"I am basing my decision on the fact that I have no desire whatsoever to come face to face with my kidnappers," he bit out through clenched teeth. "The fact that you still don't seem to understand that makes it worse."

The old man slumped in his chair. "We are truly sorry for the hardship that has befallen you, but nursing this grudge you have is counterproductive for all involved."

Harry snorted derisively and didn't bother to respond. Nothing was getting through to him.

"I place a great deal of value on your opinion," Dumbledore said emphatically after a long pause. "I am asking politely, but if you continue to persist I am quite capable of resorting to the tactics you employed earlier this week."

"You know what?" Harry said after a moment's thought. "I think I would actually prefer that. It removes the veneer of civility you project on a daily basis."

Dumbledore eyed him for a long moment, oozing disappointment and regret before his eyes flicked to the ceiling, just as a ball of fire exploded in mid-air, revealing a phoenix.

Singing loudly, Fawkes floated through the staff room, red and orange flickers trailing him before he perched on the long table in between the two men. His glinting black eyes met Harry's and for a long moment man and bird stared at each other before Fawkes let out a happy trill.

Harry felt his heart swell and long buried emotions bubble upwards at the familiar sight and sound. Hope, conviction, a hint of grief and all of it fuelling his righteous anger.

Turning to Dumbledore, the man was watching him calculatingly. Had he expected Harry to cringe? To have proof of a Dark nature? Come to think of it, why wasn't Dumbledore reacting like the bird shoved an icepick in his ear? Surely kidnapping and torture formed large black spots on the phoenix scale of morality.

"Why are you staying with him, Fawkes?" he asked softly, begging to understand. "He has caused so much harm and he doesn't regret it, not really."

The phoenix warbled, the sound beautiful and heart-warming but unfortunately not answering his question.

"Could you try to make him understand?" he asked instead. Fawkes trilled questioningly and the corner of Harry's mouth turned up. "Maybe beat him around the head a bit until he starts to think again?"

The bird swivelled his head around to stare at the Headmaster who looked taken aback at someone actually holding a conversation with his phoenix.

"You get along surprisingly well with Fawkes," he said slowly.

The bird slowly spread his wings, revealing an impressive wingspan and hopped a few inches closer before suddenly taking to the air. For a moment Harry thought the bird might actually do as he asked but instead Fawkes settled for perching on Dumbledore's shoulder, nuzzling his beak in the man's grey hair.

He sighed in disappointment. "That's not the response I was hoping for."

"Maybe you could take it as a sign to reconsider my request?" Dumbledore asked hopefully. Fawkes squawked loudly an inch away from his ear and the old man winced. "It was worth a try."

"It's exactly that kind of thinking that got us where we are, Headmaster," Harry said softly. "Some things just should not be tried."

Like a deflating balloon the Headmaster slumped in his chair. "I once again wholeheartedly apologise for the harm I and the Order inadvertently caused you," he said sadly.

To Harry's surprise he actually seemed sincere. Was it Fawkes influence? And was that influence directed at the old man or at him?

"I still won't join your Order meeting," Harry warned.

"And I still believe it may save lives. I suspect we both will do what we feel we must."

Fawkes trilled encouragingly. Harry didn't feel quite that cheerful.

* * *

"Please don't do this!"

Hermione's pleading voice penetrated the trap door of Harry's living room where he was seated by the fireplace, reluctantly marking summer homework.

His eyes narrowed and instinctively he moved for the little door, intent on slamming it open and jumping to the aid of his friend. Halfway across the room he stopped in his tracks.

Right. Not his friend; no need to leap immediately into the fray. It would be better if he found out what was going on first.

So, like a Slytherin convert he reached for his wand and carefully muttered the incantation to the Supersensory Charm.

"Why are you so adamant about this?" Iris harsh whisper floated up, clear as day.

Harry started. Hermione was pleading with Iris?

"Because you're about to make a huge mistake!" Hermione whispered back fiercely. "I would be a terrible friend if I just let you walk in there and waste another two years of your life-"

"It won't be a waste," Iris interrupted, not sounding quite sure herself.

"See! You don't even believe that yourself. This is a terrible idea."

"Professor White is very different from Trelawney-"

"For god's sake, he gave Lav and Parv homework on the Mind Arts!" Hermione exploded, completely giving up on whispering. "You know how difficult the Mind Arts are – months of one-on-one lessons got you nowhere – and he gave books on it to them. _Them!_ The Ditzy Duo! Clearly he doesn't know how to gauge his students' abilities. On top of that, his howler lesson created absolute chaos during breakfast Wednesday morning. You know what I conclude from those facts?"

Iris made sputtering sounds but the irate girl just steamrollered on, never giving her a chance to speak.

"I concluded that White is a _horrid teacher!_ But, wait, that doesn't matter, because even if he did he would be teaching _Divination_! The most useless of courses in the history of academics! It's useless and stupid and I absolutely forbid you from wasting any more of your time on it."

Harry blinked repeatedly in surprise at Hermione's little rant and judging by the silence below Iris probably looked similarly dumbstruck. Wow. Hermione leaving Trelawney's class had clearly left a festering wound.

"Careful, brains," Iris said finally, sounding amused. "Your prejudice may be showing."

"It's not prejudice if it's true," Hermione shot back cattily.

Before their bickering could degenerate any further Harry dramatically slammed open the trap door with a bang and stuck his head through the opening.

"Professor!" Hermione and Iris exclaimed, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Ladies," he greeted flatly, taking care to hide his amusement. Both fell into an embarrassed silence until he decided to take pity on them. "Why don't you come on up?"

He dropped the ladder down the hole and watched as first Iris and then Hermione climbed into his living room.

"Stupid ladder," Hermione grumbled under her breath before Iris shot her a look and she fell silent.

"So, I couldn't help but overhear that you were looking for me," Harry said teasingly, a small smile showing when both of them winced.

Iris took a deep breath. "I want to join your class."

Hermione slumped dejectedly beside her and Harry eyed her in amusement. "Really, now. Why?"

Iris stumbled. "W- What?"

"Why do you wish to join my class? Surely you have a reason?"

"Er... That is... I'm curious?"

Wow, was he that bad a liar as well? "About what?"

"Uhhh, there's a prophecy about me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "There's been a prophecy about you for more than two months now giving you ample time to sign up. You clearly weren't interested. Yet here you are, which means something changed. What was it?"

She stood open-mouthed for a moment before her shoulders slumped. "Screw it. Dumbledore suggested it."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. Dumbledore did what now?

"Iris!" Hermione exclaimed, scandalised.

"What?" she said defensively. "I kept trying to tell you but you kept harping about Divination being a useless course."

"Iris!" Hermione screeched, looking mortified at Harry.

"Sorry miss, the cat was out of the bag on that one already," he said without mercy. "You weren't exactly discreet downstairs."

"Fine," she grumbled, throwing up both hands. "You can join stupid Divination."

"Sorry to burst your bubble again," Harry drawled, "but I have a rather important vote in that and so far I'm not convinced."

Both girls whirled on him. "What?"

Harry ignored them. "When exactly did the Headmaster offer this little bit of advice?"

"Yesterday," Iris said with narrowed eyes before gritting her teeth and adding, "We had a little _chat_."

"Oh?" Harry barely dared to hope, but if she was saying what he thought she was...

"There may have been yelling," Iris admitted, crossing her arms with a huff. "I was not impressed with his version of events."

Yes!

If Hermione hadn't been there Harry would have hugged his tiny counterpart. As it was he had to swallow back a chunk of knotted glee and gratitude.

"I am very grateful to hear that," he managed to get out.

"Do you two know each other?" Hermione asked, looking between the pair of them with a furrowed brow like she was trying to puzzle out something.

Iris looked at Harry and subtly raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head ever so slightly in response. Best to keep his true identity to as few people as possible for the moment.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Miss Potter came to me a little over a week ago. She _is_ the subject of a prophecy and I am the Divination expert in residence. Before that, however, we have never met." Merlin he was getting good at spinning these half-truths.

Apparently Iris agreed with him because she looked impressed.

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "Then what are you talking about?"

Harry opened his mouth before closing it with a snap. This wasn't _his_ Hermione or even his friend; she was Iris'. Maybe his pseudo-sister had a reason not to reveal her secrets. Either way, the choice to do so should be hers.

In a reversal of roles he turned to Iris with his eyebrow raised. She smirked and nodded firmly.

"The Order fucked up the Professor's life," she said bluntly. "I'll explain how later. Professor White told me and I waited until my scheduled lesson to get Dumbledore's version of events before deciding one way or another. Let's just say the Order is full of idiots and we're both rather angry about it."

"I..." Hermione looked like someone had just dumped one of her essays in a barrel of red ink. She whirled to face Iris and glared at her pointedly. "You _will_ be explaining this to me in exacting detail."

Iris put her hand over her heart. "On pain of eternal studying."

Hermione slapped her on the shoulder. "On pain of regressing to 'little boss' for the rest of the year, you prat." Iris hissed in outrage and the brunette's eyes flashed in triumph.

"Ladies, we have seem to have gotten off track," Harry interrupted their banter, though he was smiling. "Did Dumbledore explain why he wanted you to join my class?"

"Not really," Iris said with a shrug. "There's the prophecy and your... origins. He was mostly vague, just saying that he had his reasons."

Harry snorted. "Obviously I care very little for what Dumbledore wants, so his word alone is not much of an argument with me. To be honest, I'm tempted to bar you from my class _because_ he suggested it."

"You can't do that!" Hermione's threshold of tolerable disrespect was well and truly crossed. "He's the Headmaster!"

"So?" he said scathingly, before resorting to the biggest anti-Hermione weapon in his arsenal and presenting her with a logical argument. "Each of my students is in my class for their own reasons. At the moment a disappointingly high percentage is convinced Divination will yield them an 'easy O.W.L.' Fortunately that is offset by those who are truly interested." He spread his hands. "I prefer the latter, though I accept the former and make them work for it. An unmotivated student only there because someone in authority made them, though? Everybody will be happier if I simply don't accept those in the first place."

"But surely you must take the Headmaster's opinion into account?" she argued desperately. "He is your boss!"

"Not really." Harry shrugged. "Beyond the start of year intake he cannot force me to take on a student."

Iris winced and looked down. "I kind of promised," she muttered.

"Then convince me," Harry said with a pointed look. "I don't care about Dumbledore's reasons. Do _you_ want to study Divination for another two years?"

She ran her fingers through her hair. "Would I even learn anything?"

The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a very self-satisfied smile and there was not a hint of doubt in his voice when he gleefully answered, "Oh, you will."

Surprised, her eyes shot up to meet his. "You'd know, wouldn't you?"

"I _am_ the Divination Professor," he agreed with a smile.

Hermione huffed disgustedly and looked away from both of them as she bitingly asked, "What valuable skills would you be imparting, _exactly_?"

It was exactly how _his _Hermione would have reacted and Harry instinctively needled her in response.

"We're just starting with the Mind Arts," he said, smiling innocently. "I thought you knew?"

She gritted her teeth. "Iris has already had months of one-on-one instruction and will be far ahead of the class. No need to join."

"Augeomency?" he asked knowingly.

"I don't even know what that is," Iris said quickly before her friend could make another catty comment. "Is it useful?"

"A bit," he said nonchalantly. "It's the art of enriching the mind, clearing up memories, aiding in recall. Nothing spectacular but every little bit helps in N.E.W.T. year, don't you think?" He took great satisfaction in the twitching of Hermione's fingers. "Of course, its true power lies in control over the mind, greatly aiding the other Mind Arts branches."

"Occlumency?" Iris asked immediately.

"Among others."

Iris nodded decisively. "I'm in. Forget Dumbledore, I want to learn that."

Harry smiled triumphantly. "Then I'll expect you next Friday. I'm sure Miss Brown, Miss Patil or Mister Longbottom can catch you up with what you missed."

He turned to Hermione and his eyes glinted. "Are you signing up for N.E.W.T. Divination as well, Miss Granger?"

"No!" she exclaimed immediately, her disgust obvious, before blushing. "I mean, thank you for the offer, Professor, but I decided in third year that Divination wasn't for me."

"Suit yourself. You might consider stopping by for a special class I'm organising a few weeks from now, though. I'm calling it Divination for Sceptics."

The way she tried to keep her scepticism off her face was admirable.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said politely, dragging Iris by the arm towards the trap door. "We shan't take up any more of your time, Professor. Goodbye."

"Feel free to stop by any time," Harry called after them, grinning.

Iris barely managed a wave of her hand before her friend yanked her down and out of sight.

* * *

"You're mean," Iris accused that evening.

She'd shown up alone, covered in her invisibility cloak, Marauder's Map in hand and Harry hadn't hesitated in letting her in and guiding her to the armchairs by the fire. He had about a million questions.

"You mean to Hermione? I wasn't the one who accused her of being bad teacher for a useless and stupid course."

"She didn't mean anything by it," Iris said half-heartedly.

He snorted. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

"Yeah, that was weak," she agreed. "Was your Hermione like her?"

"Pretty close-minded," he said with a nod. "In her defence, Trelawney was never replaced with a counterexample to Divination's uselessness apart from Firenze and he himself is... biased."

She ran her fingers through her long red locks. "Were you serious about Occlumency? Can you really teach me?"

"Oh yes," he said with a nod. "Learned it myself this summer. You need Augeomency first because of the scar."

"Oh thank Merlin. I never want to" - she gestured vaguely at her temple - "you know. Again."

"I know exactly how you feel," he said with a sympathetic wince. "I can't promise you'll block him out completely – I only learned after he was dead, after all – but you'll make progress. It won't be like with Snape."

"Now there's good news if I ever heard any."

She slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes as she finally let herself relax. It hit him how much better she looked than a few days ago, like a mountain of stress had slid right off her shoulders.

"Could you tell me a little more about your little chat with Dumbledore?" he asked hopefully.

She opened a single eye and lazily stared at him. "Did you have private lessons with him in sixth year?"

"Oh, right." Harry snapped his fingers in realisation. "So it was a scheduled talk? You didn't just barge in like an angry harpy?"

"I only do that to family in hiding," she snarked, grinning. "Anyway, you know about the memories then?"

"Little Tommy in the orphanage? Yeah, I remember."

"It's not what I expected, I'll tell you that much." She frowned. "Are they really important?"

Harry grimaced, thinking back to the horcrux hunt. "They turned out to be."

Irisblinked in surprise. "Really? Maybe I gave him too little credit then," she mused. "On top of everything else the useless 'lesson' may have fed my frustration a little."

He leaned forward eagerly. "What happened?"

"I asked what the Order had been doing all summer. He called it damage control, putting out various fires before trying to gloss over what he called, 'gathering allies.'"

Harry scowled.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said with a wicked laugh. "I told him I already knew and that the only thing stopping me from destroying even more of his office was that I wanted to hear his side of the story. He told."

"Gryffindor," he said with admiration. "What did he say, exactly?"

Her smile faltered. "That I wasn't ready and the pressure wasn't fair to me so in desperation they called for help, for someone to aid me. That it may be a small wrong, but that thousands of lives hung in the balance."

"He called it the lesser of two evils?" Harry asked incredulously. "Well, that's more of an admission of wrongdoing than I've ever gotten out of him before."

"You were right, he didn't really regret it," she said before wincing. "I said some rather unladylike things and we sat in silence for about five minutes. He made another appointment next weekend, 'to let tempers cool.' I was almost at the door when he suggested joining your class."

"Thank you," he said, heartfelt. "So far you're the only one to really come down on my side in this and defend me."

She blushed. "You're family, right? Even if nobody knows it. Us Potters have to stick together."

"Family," Harry pondered, smiling. "I've never had any, but it always sounded awfully nice."

"Except for the sibling squabbles." She narrowed her eyes at him. "There will be no comments about my size or you will find out that 'fury of woman scorned' is not just an expression."

"Speaking of teasing," Harry said with a big smile, "why did you think bringing Hermione to the Divination Tower was a good idea?"

"Because she's my friend and I wanted her to meet you?" she tried hopefully. Harry wasn't buying it and her smile faltered. "I can't actually walk the halls on my own; I'll get hexed. Ron, Hermione and Neville have appointed themselves my bodyguards and go with me everywhere."

Harry stared at her in shock. "It's gotten that bad? I thought the howlers were the worst of it."

"From outside the castle, yes. I'm learning a great deal about detecting booby trapped mail, but as long as it doesn't explode on its own and scream at me that's manageable. The students though..." She shivered and shrunk in on herself. "Apparently I am a weak, lazy bitch that may as well have killed their friends and family myself."

"They're utter bastards and don't listen to them," he said immediately.

She smiled wearily. "Their screaming gets rather too loud for that at times."

"I'll see what I can do," he promised, but she tiredly shrugged a single shoulder causing her arm to flop helplessly.

"They're careful to keep it out of sight of the professors. Not much you can do about it. Those howlers, though..." She straightened in her seat and bit her lip. "Why did you do that?"

"Because every day you looked more upset and letting strangers scream at a sixteen year old girl by proxy is wrong," he answered harshly before gently smiling. "More so if she is family."

She blinked rapidly and suddenly jumped out of her chair to launch herself at him. He wasn't expecting it and as a result he flinched as she rammed her shoulder into his collarbone with enough force to almost topple his chair while she flung her arms around his shoulders and clung like a vice.

Slowly he reached up to put his arms around her back. It was an awkward hug, but ever so heartfelt and Iris didn't seem inclined to let go any time soon.

"Thank you," she muttered very quietly. "That may be the nicest thing a professor has ever done for me."

* * *

**A/N:** An update! After two months of nothing! Finally!

Sorry about the long pause; life was kicking my ass. Fortunately self-defense clauses apply and I am now kicking its ass right back. Thank you for all your reviews and PMs and worried messages checking to see if I was still alive and if not, did I will this story on to a ghost writer so it wouldn't be left unfinished. Your response has been hearwarming with the occasional side of creepiness. That's still 97 percent brilliant rounding off to a solid awesome.

Part of the problem was that writing stopped being fun for a while. Early versions of this chapter sucked and nothing I tried made it better. I've long since accepted that not everything can stay fun all the time and to get anywhere one must muddle through the gruelling bits, but writing turned from hobby into chore.  
Still, perseverance won out and here we are with chapter 16. In the same vein I cannot promise an update next weekend, but I will commit myself to updating the weekend after at the latest. I started off with regular updates and would really like to keep some kind of pace going.

Recommendations! How could I have neglected to mention A Black Comedy by nonjon? Blasphemy! If you haven't read it yet, you're missing out. If you have, read it again; it's still hilarious the second time.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	17. Who is a nasty piece of work?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 17 – Who is a nasty piece of work?**

"Why are we here?" Iris asked, scowling around at the dilapidated bathroom she and Harry were standing in.

Moaning Myrtle had campaigned long, hard and very loud for the place to be known as her home, but as a result nobody liked visiting and even the house-elves were reluctant to show up to clean. It showed in the stains on the wall, the puddles of stagnant water in depressions on the floor and a pervading smell of growing mould.

Tonight, Harry didn't care. He was feeling positively giddy about doing something he knew was absolutely _right_, without being forced, pressured or otherwise coerced. In fact, barring Iris – who he'd invited himself – nobody even knew what they were doing.

"We're here because Lordy Tom sent one of his lackeys after me this summer," he said cheerfully. In his left hand he held a broom and in his right his _special_ bottle of cooking sherry, with which he grandly gestured at the set of sinks in the centre of the room. "He annoyed me, so now we're going to annoy him right back."

Harry felt not a hint of remorse at talking so casually about destroying a priceless piece of jewellery with a rich history that should rightfully be in a museum. As far as he was concerned it was already ruined and this would just be putting it out of its misery. Plus, there were the added benefits to consider.

With a vicious grin he added, "And when I say annoy, I mean we're going to do something that would leave him screaming in pain and fury if he knew."

Where before Iris had looked apprehensive her eyes now lit up and a fierce smile brightened her face. "What are you waiting for?" Her voice turned sibilant before it transformed completely into what, to him, sounded like English with an added layer of hisses. "_Open!_"

The sinks sunk away, revealing a dark chasm not unlike a sewer, equally appropriate and unattractive. Both Iris and Harry winced and took a step backwards as the smell hit them.

"Ladies first?" Harry offered hopefully.

Iris gave him a scornful look. "You're a true gentleman. How about age before beauty?"

Harry sighed and ran his fingers over the glamoured scars on his face. "Can't argue with that I suppose."

Iris blanched but Harry gave her a faint smile before she could apologise. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

He leant over the hole in the floor and peered down into the depths. "Right. Chamber of Secrets. At least this part is fun."

Waving cheekily to Iris he hopped over the edge and enjoyed the rush of falling before the ancient slide caught him and sent him careening half a mile down the smooth shaft at a rapid pace.

The end was still filthy as ever and the thousands of rodent carcasses did not make for a pretty sight. Unlike second year, however, Harry was capable of cushioning and cleaning charms, so he landed softly and by the time Iris reached the bottom a minute after him she landed both softly and much cleaner than he.

"Did you remember to close the sinks?" Harry asked curiously.

"Do I look like Lockhart had his way with me?" she answered cattily. She frowned and shivered violently. "That came out wrong."

"I'll say." Harry looked a bit sick himself. "Now, just to check, things are the same in both worlds, right? Lockhart's last stand, cave-in, sword in the monster and tooth in the book?"

Iris hesitated. "That sounds about right."

Harry blinked and glared at her. "It is rather important you're sure on the big parts. You did, in fact, kill the enormous, centuries-old basilisk capable of killing the both of us at first glance, right? I would rather not get a face full of its ugly mug as soon as I open the door at the end of this tunnel."

"I didn't do anything about Salazar's face," she said cheekily before rolling her eyes. "Yes, the basilisk is dead. Like you said, sword in the monster, tooth in the book."

"Good." Harry nodded briskly before flicking his wand at the pile of loose boulders that marked where Lockhart had cast his last spell. Instantly the rock shifted sideways and upwards, forming a rough, unadorned archway holding up the ceiling and clearing a path. "I hate surprises like that."

"Wow!" Iris whistled lowly, staring at where the rubble had been. "That was great."

Harry blushed faintly. "I'd like to say it was talent, but I spent all week practising for that. Didn't want to bring the ceiling down on our heads if I just blasted a way through."

"Huh." She thought for a moment before shrugging. "Thanks. I'd rather avoid life-threatening situations this time around."

Harry snorted. "You and me both."

A brisk walk, a serpentine hiss and the sound of creaking ancient hinges later they were standing in the Chamber of Secrets once more. All around the room torches and bowls of sea-green flames sputtered and flared up, illuminating the grisly product of the battle that had raged there.

The ceiling – and with it the lake above – was held up by enormous stone pillars, elaborately adorned with a distinct snake motif, but a number of them bore scars where stone had been gouged away. Loose rock and other debris was strewn throughout the chamber and the flickering flames cast moving shadows that made every pebble seem like it was scurrying around.

For a brief moment their gazes were drawn to a solitary basilisk fang laying next to a large black stain on the stone floor, but that was short-lived as the enormous corpse of the monster itself had them staring where it lay splayed out. The giant head was big enough to swallow a man in one bite, which was frighteningly large all by itself, but the body behind it just went on and on and on before it finally disappeared from sight in the pool beneath Salazar's statue.

"It's only now that I look back with an adult's perspective that I realise how insanely lucky I was," Harry murmured softly before looking at Iris and shaking his head. "How lucky we were, I mean."

"We do what we have to, right?" Iris wondered and Harry smiled faintly.

"That we do," he agreed softly. "That we do."

They took in the sight for a while longer before Iris demonstratively turned her back on the slain beast.

"So why are we here?"

Harry met her eyes, all traces of humour gone. "We are going to send Lordy Tom's soul to hell where it belongs. One piece at a time."

It was time for a crash course in horcruxes.

* * *

"So he split his soul," Iris said nonchalantly, though she frowned as she did so. "What's the big deal? I already knew he was evil."

Harry blinked and sighed. "If you don't instinctively understand then I'm not sure I can explain it to you. Tearing apart his soul like he did..." He shuddered. "Voldemort destroyed his humanity. He took his very essence as a sentient being and ripped it to shreds using the suffering and death of others to do so."

Iris scrunched up her nose. "Okay, that sounds unpleasant. Still, like I said. Voldemort, evil. So he's even more depraved than I already thought. What makes splitting his soul so special?"

"Well, first off it's a ritual that requires a murder and he did several of them." He gave her a significant look.

Her distaste clearly showed on her face as she motioned for him to continue.

"More importantly though, you know how there's rules about what magic cannot do? Create love, bring people back from the dead, that kind of thing?"

"Of course."

"Except, well, love potions exist, don't they?"

"Sure..." Iris agreed slowly, "but that's not real love."

"Ah, but they mimic it really, really well. Under the influence of one you cannot tell the difference. See, the rules are absolute, but there are loopholes."

She blinked and frowned faintly. "I already don't like where this is going."

Harry grimaced in sympathy. "You know how you can't bring people back from the dead?"

"Yes..." She nervously drew out the word.

"Lordy Tom was hit by the Killing Curse that reflected off your forehead. An argument could be made that it never really hit you, just reflected because of whatever mum did. However, it unquestionably hit him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we start calling him the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry snorted. "You know, that might annoy him. But no. My point is that he _didn't die_. Despite being hit by a curse that should have killed him he lingered, clinging to life as the wraith you saw when he tried for the Philosopher's Stone. Didn't you ever wonder how?"

"No?" she said in a small voice.

"Yeah, neither did I. Which made Dumbledore's announcement that Voldemort was functionally immortal rather jarring and unpleasant."

"He's _what!?_"

Iris' yell echoed around the cavernous chamber like a gunshot.

Harry nodded solemnly. "That's what Dumbledore is working towards with his little quest down memory lane. Voldemort made horcruxes and as long as even one remains he cannot be permanently killed."

"That's... That's..." Iris spluttered.

"Jarring and unpleasant?"

Iris nodded rapidly before noticing the complete lack of horror on his face. "Why aren't you more upset?"

"Because I did that already and then I spent a year collecting all those little trophies, which was every bit as revolting as it sounds. But in the end, we found them all, and you know what?" A bloodthirsty part of him hidden deep inside wanted to roar in triumph, but he suppressed it in favour of a satisfied grin fierce enough to make a goblin proud. "We smashed the fuck out of all his little pieces of soul and when he died we made it stick!"

And, by Merlin, ignoring the bloody battle that took place, didn't _that_ part still feel amazing.

Iris daintily coughed in her hand, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"You'll understand," Harry said defensively, trying to ignore his rising embarrassment and running his fingers through his hair. "The important part, though, was that I know where all of them were back in my world and so far the dimensional differences have turned out to be minor."

It took a few seconds for it to sink in but then Iris gasped. "You can find them here?"

Harry raised the bottle in his left hand. "Guess what I found?"

Iris shot it a sceptical look. "Voldemort put a piece of his soul in a bottle of cooking sherry?"

"What?" Harry asked, confused before glancing at the bottle and glaring back at her. "No, of course not. I put the horcrux in the bottle."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Because I needed a place to hide it once I found it and-" He tilted his head. "You know what? Enough with the questions."

With a heave he flung the bottle at the stone floor six feet away where it smashed to pieces, freeing the diadem from its prison and sending a drops of sherry flying everywhere.

Iris jumped backwards as if the stuff was a caustic acid of some kind.

"Watch it!" She yelled, moving her wand over her robes in an effort to siphon the droplets out before they could stain the fabric.

"Whoops," Harry said guiltily, hurriedly taking out his own wand.

A few cleaning charms and both their appearances were once more pristine. Trying to distract her he grandly gestured at the priceless piece of jewellery lying on the floor in a puddle of sherry and glass splinters. "Behold, a horcrux!"

Iris looked from him to the diadem and back. "Did someone spike your pumpkin juice this morning?"

"No, but after soaking in highly concentrated alcohol for so long that is a truly shit-faced piece of soul," he said excitedly, before grinning. "I propose we call it a piece of shit-face."

She raised an eyebrow, never looking away until finally his shoulders slumped.

"Fine, ruin my fun," he pouted. "I'm just eager to get back at Lordy Tom for sending his Death Eater lackeys after me this summer. That I get to do it by destroying something unspeakably evil rendering him that much closer to mortal is a very nice bonus."

That finally got a grin out of her. "You do know that if Hermione had heard your language just now she would have hit you over the head with her copy of Hogwarts: A History, professor or not?"

A blush heated his cheeks. "Ah, I did go a bit overboard on the cursing, didn't I? It's just..." He gestured at the diadem. "A piece of shit-face. Tell me you don't feel like cursing his name and making light of his evil achievements."

She turned away from him to face the diadem again, but not before Harry spotted the small smile she was sporting. He grinned knowingly.

"What is it?" she asked softly after looking it over. "It's gorgeous, or it could have been but now it just looks... diseased."

Harry smiled sadly. "It was once the Diadem of Ravenclaw before Lordy Tom got his hands on it."

Her head shot around to look at him in shock. "The _lost_ Diadem of Ravenclaw?"

"Not so much now." He gestured at it. "Now it's just been horribly corrupted, capable of possessing anyone who touches it if it doesn't steal their soul first. It has to be destroyed."

"Possession?" she murmured faintly before whirling to look at the solitary basilisk fang looking out of place on the floor yards away from the corpse of the beast next to a large black ink stain.

"Yes," he confirmed softly. "His Diary was another."

She swallowed. "Is that why we're here?"

"Not really," Harry said, shrugging, "though it is appropriate in a way. Destroy this one where you killed the first part of him you found. And with how secret this must stay the name of this place is apt as well. But no, the main reason why we're here is that horcruxes are disturbingly difficult to destroy. The only reliable way we've found without killing ourselves is to use basilisk venom." He gestured at the big dead snake. "Fortunately we have some available."

"All right." She took a deep breath and Harry could almost see the determination fill her veins as she straightened and squared her shoulders. "Let's do this."

She made for the tooth that had already destroyed one Horcrux but Harry quickly clamped his hand down on her shoulder. Iris jerked her head around in surprise.

"Past experience to the contrary, handling basilisk fangs with your bare hands is not safe," he explained, "mostly because they contain _the deadliest venom __known to man_." He let that sink in for a moment before releasing her shoulder. "Curb those Gryffindor instincts of yours and try for a little common sense, please."

Taking the lead, he shot a Sticking Charm at a convenient thick stone pillar – predictably adorned with snake ornaments – and levitated the diadem across the room until it collided with the pillar, producing a tinny ring. There it stayed, stuck at eye height. A second swish and flick had the loose basilisk fang floating over until it bobbed three feet in front of Iris, in between her and the pillar, its sharp point aimed unerringly at the diadem.

"I'd like to call this game 'Harry's Shooting Gallery'," he said, regaining his enthusiasm. "In case you've forgotten, the Flinging Charm is pronounced 'Misso_'_. Jab your wand and watch your target sail away in a straight line for about a hundred feet." He grinned. "Have fun!"

Iris rolled her eyes, but dutifully took a rough duelling position, body turned sideways, knees slightly bent and wand arm extended.

"_Misso!_" she barked, jabbing her wand. With the sound of a billiard cue hitting a ball the fang exploded into motion like a shot from a catapult. It hit the right pillar but her aim was slightly off and instead of piercing the diadem it struck a good ten inches higher, jabbing a stone snake between the eyes before clattering harmlessly to the floor.

"And that's a miss!" Harry cried dramatically, shooting a quick ball of red paint at the spot. It completely hid the snake's head from view like Iris had truly blown it off and contrasted starkly with the muted colder colours of the chamber around them.

Harry levitated the fang back to Iris. "Would you care to try again?"

"_Misso!_" Iris barked a second time, watching the fang sail off too far to the left this time but grinning widely nonetheless. "You know, I think I remember you chiding me to use common sense."

"Trust me, when hunting horcruxes you'll take all the levity you can get." Harry shook his head, remembering the hungry months in a mouldy tent spent almost constantly nearly possessed. "I much prefer destroying unspeakable evil while having fun."

Iris sent the fang of another four times before she jumped in excitement.

"I think I nicked it that time!"

"Are you sure?" Harry asked sceptically. "It's usually rather obvious when-"

The light dimmed and the temperature plummeted as every flame lighting the chamber flickered and angled towards the diadem as if something inside was taking a huge breath.

The cold hit them like a sledgehammer and Iris reflexively breathed out as she hunched in on herself, her breath fogging in the air. She drew her arms close to her chest to preserve as much heat as possible. In contrast, Harry stared at the diadem without blinking, his face like stone.

It screamed.

The shriek of someone in absolute agony rang around the room, loud, sharp and grating like a giant digging furrows through a chalkboard. On its heels followed a torrent of darkness as the diadem expelled a thick cloying black smoke that spread outward like a tsunami, looking unbelievably _wrong_, like a painful boil on magic itself was squeezed until it popped, releasing a wave of pus so foul that even light refused to touch it.

For a moment Harry and Iris were drenched in absolute cold and darkness, submerged in a pool of the deepest evil imaginable, before everything was suddenly sucked back into the diadem like it had never been, the scream transforming into a wail and growing fainter as if drawn in its wake before eventually dying out completely. The Sticking Charm failed and with a fragile tinny sound the diadem clattered to the floor, unmarked but for a tiny scratch along one edge.

Panting, Iris swallowed audibly. "That's- That was..." Rooted to the spot she stared at the innocuous looking piece of silver lying several feet away with a look of absolute horror.

"Horcruxes are the closest thing to true evil that I know of," Harry agreed quietly, not taking his eyes off the thing.

"A- Are they all like that?" Iris asked, her voice trembling.

Harry shook his head. "Remember, a horcrux is formed from a piece of soul. That makes it sentient after a fashion and as such each one behaves differently. Where it's stored and how it's handled can also strengthen it until it has enough power to feel like" - he shuddered - "that. This diadem has been sitting in a magical castle, housing hundreds of magical children and surrounded by a sea of magical items. It's been swimming in emotional magic for years and years."

"So they're _not_ all like that?" Her frightened had a hopeful lilt to it.

"You tell me," he replied gravely. "Was the diary Diary better or worse than this?"

A hysterical sob burst from her throat. "I've never felt so much in need of a shower."

Harry jerked his head around, looking away from the remains of Ravenclaw's Diadem for the first time and took in Iris' shivering form, her pale face and the rapid way her chest was moving up and down as her breath sped up towards hyperventilating.

"Iris!" he snapped harshly. She jumped like a startled rabbit, her eyes flitting around until they met his, looking for some, any kind of reassurance. He held her gaze and spoke slowly but firmly.

"Voldemort made those things. Yes, they are vile and should not exist. But you just destroyed one beyond any hope of recovery. Be proud! Destroying a horcrux is unquestionably one of the biggest, truest ways to do good and tomorrow, when the horror has faded a little you're going to feel amazing."

Her breathing was rapid but she managed a nervous chuckle. "I did destroy it, didn't I?"

"Utterly and completely," he said, trying to bury her fear with his own confidence. "It's gone. It can never come back. You sent that piece of soul to hell, or whatever destination dark lords get."

Slowly her breathing evened out and she rubbed some warmth back into her arms.

"Be proud!" he repeated more gently now that she looked to be coming down from her panic attack. "You did good."

"It was mostly you, though," she protested weakly. "I just did as you told me. You could have done this just fine on your own."

Harry shook his head. "That would be stupid. Like I said, these things are evil. Dumbledore went after one on his own and it cost him an arm before killing him slowly." He tilted his head. "However, if you're convinced you didn't do anything, there is something only you can do. Do you feel up to it?"

She shuddered and shook her head. "Not yet; give me a minute. Maybe explain first this time. What do you need?"

He smiled faintly. "For you to call Kreacher."

"What?" she asked, startled before grimacing. "Why him? Can't I call Dobby instead?"

Harry sighed sadly. "Unfortunately this Dobby doesn't seem to like me very much."

"He doesn't?" she asked, surprised. "But Dobby likes everyone that treats him kindly." She glared at him. "You didn't abuse him, did you?"

"Of course not," he said heatedly, truly offended. "I would never! But his loyalty is to you and you alone and during the summer I didn't want to him to tell you who I was when he delivered my letters. He didn't like that."

"I remember," she said thoughtfully even as she smiled apologetically at him.. "He seemed really smug about that."

"He would, the blackmailing little shit," Harry grumbled, glaring at Iris when she smacked his shoulder.

"Be nice. Dobby would never do something truly bad."

Harry smiled sickly. "Even if he were 'protecting Miss Iris Potter, ma'am'?"

She blanched. "He means well?" she said weakly.

"Like when he stole your mail?" he asked, driving home the point.

"Hmm."

"Like when he barred your entrance to the train station and your access to Hogwarts?"

"Ah, well-"

"Like when he bewitched bludgers to kill you during a Quidditch match?"

"All right, all right," she burst out waving her arms to make him stop. "So he isn't perfect." Harry sniffed and she sighed in defeat. "What did he do?"

Grudgingly Harry explained being elf-bonded to aid her for the year.

"Dobby did that?" Iris asked incredulously, the corners of her mouth twitching. "The outcast elf? Little, green, peculiar speech; that Dobby?"

Harry nodded sourly. She shook her head in disbelief.

"A wardrobe for Christmas," she muttered in awe. "He is so going to need it."

"Don't encourage him!" Harry pleaded desperately. "Who knows what he'll think of next."

That seemed to spark some wicked idea in her mind and she chortled gleefully.

"It's not funny!" he whined. "I could actually be reduced to slavery if I'm not careful."

Her smile vanished as if it had never been and the oppressive atmosphere the laughter had banished briefly reasserted itself with a vengeance.

"Is that why you're helping me?" she asked softly, looking down. "Because Dobby made you?"

"No." Harry said emphatically, determined to quash that thought right now. "Remember, by the time I asked for Dobby's help I had already written the letter. And though I complain about it, him flat out refusing and giving me up to Dumbledore would have been much worse. In fact, the bond has only flared once, forcing me to save Dumbledore's life when he idiotically planned to go after that horcrux solo. Since then it's been totally quiet."

She frowned. "So you'll help me anyway, but you would have let him die?"

Harry was silent for a long time. "Yes? No? Maybe?" His breath left him in a huff. "I was so angry and he was my kidnapper. I wouldn't have cast a Killing Curse at him, but I might not have lifted a finger to help him either."

"Oh." She bit her lip before stammering, "It's just... What they did was wrong, very much so, but... in the end they did it to help me."

Harry snorted. "They did it to help themselves."

"Then they did it to help themselves help me," she argued stubbornly. "Contrary to what you seem to think they're not bad people. They were just... desperate."

"And then they kidnapped me, which makes them bad people!" he retorted.

"But what if it works?" There was an edge of desperation to her voice now. "You're already destroying horcruxes that none of them even know exist, let alone where to find them. What if that one act of kidnapping ends up saving thousands of lives?" She hugged her waist and added in a very small voice, "What if it saves mine?"

Harry flinched violently and it wasn't because the idea of his kidnapping ending up a good and noble thing was revolting to him, though of course it was. Hell, if he did end up helping kill Voldemort the Ministry would probably declare a Kidnapping Harry Day to celebrate and reward the Order of the Phoenix for their foresight.

No, he flinched because Iris' question was more accurate than she could have guessed. Because that scar on her forehead was a horcrux, which meant that sooner or later someone was going to have to kill it. And for the life of him he didn't know how to make sure she survived.

The circumstances that had allowed him to visit the doorway to the afterlife but leave with Death's full pardon were impossible to recreate. For the love of Merlin, he didn't even know why it had happened to him. Was it his blood in Voldemort's resurrection ritual or the horcrux in his head? Was it the Hallows refusing to harm their master, even though at the time he only had one on him and never actually touched the third? Was it his willingness to die, Voldemort's overconfidence at killing, or something totally different like the thoughts running through their heads or some mystical planetary alignment joining forces with the flap of a butterfly's wings in China? There were just too many questions with no answers whatsoever.

And even if he could manage to recreate that exact setting down to the last exacting detail... could he go through with it? Iris would have to choose to die. Could he steer Iris towards willingly walking to her death with no hopes for surviving? Could he drive her to suicide, methodically, relentlessly, for her own good?

Because that's what Dumbledore and Snape did to him, based on nothing but a hope and prayer. They had _planned it out_! And he'd like to think he was a better man than that.

Except that Iris was still a horcrux and by destroying the diadem just now he had massively moved up the timetable. Suddenly not knowing what to do with Iris' scar was a much bigger problem than it had been not ten minutes ago.

"Dumbledore is an arsehole and regardless of his greater good, what he did was wrong," he said finally, a little of his anger at himself making it into his voice, causing the sounds to echo around the silent chamber. "He should have found a different way."

"But what if there isn't one?" Iris asked pleadingly. "What's done is done, but now you're not even working together even though you have the same goal."

"We _do not_ have the same goal," Harry bit out violently.

"Well you're both helping me in your own ways," she objected mulishly. "I'd just like my allies to get along better. But I guess I should just be glad we're making some progress at all."

"Speaking of progress," Harry said, forcibly changing the topic, "how about calling that house-elf of yours?"

She frowned, but let it go. "You know, you still haven't told me why we can't use any other elf than that traitorous bastard. Unless..." She blanched. "He's not a horcrux, is he?"

"No, Kreacher is not a horcrux," Harry assured her with an eye-roll.

"Then why?" she whined.

"Because he knows where to find one," he explained with exaggerated slowness, enunciating like a participant in an articulation contest.

"Fine!" she groused, before calling, "Kreacher!"

They waited for ten seconds before she hopefully looked up at him. "Maybe he can't come in here? After all, Salazar Slytherin built it and he didn't want anyone to get-"

With a loud crack the aged and wrinkled house-elf of the House of Black appeared next to Iris, facing away from her and swaying woozily on his pencil-thin legs.

"-in," she finished disappointedly.

"Blood traitor Mistress calls for Kreacher," the elf wheezed out.

"Reluctantly, I assure you," she said sourly, before adding under her breath, "decrepit little traitor."

"I asked for you," Harry intervened quickly, wary of these two descending into violence. Apparently not seeing each other for more than a year in his own world had really mellowed their relationship.

"Master Harry," Kreacher said neutrally, addressing him like any other Hogwarts elf would. Suddenly the elf's expression brightened into one of hope. "The White family was once a noble pureblood line. Kreacher thought it was lost. Is Master Harry of such noble stock?"

"No," Harry said with a small smile, dashing those hopes.

The elf sighed in defeat. "Another worthless mudblood," he remarked sourly.

Harry shook his head in amusement. He'd almost forgotten how amusing a grouchy Kreacher could be. Still, he had a job to do, so in a mollifying tone he said, "I can, however, help you in destroying Regulus' locket."

The elf stilled and narrowed his big eyes in suspicion. "Kreacher has never told anyone of the locket."

"And yet, here I am, offering to help you with it," Harry said mysteriously. "Does it matter how I know?"

"The worthless mudblood steals the proud White name and asks if Kreacher should trust the thief with Master Regulus' treasure," the elf croaked derisively. "The worthless mudblood must think Kreacher is stupid."

"More like desperate," Harry corrected, frowning. _His_ Kreacher had been all but begging him to destroy the locket at the merest hint that he knew how. It was these little dimensional changes that kept tripping him up.

"You _are_ tasked with destroying it, right?" he checked. "It was Master Regulus' last command to you?"

Kreacher gnashed his teeth and a look of naked longing crossed his face. "Master Regulus ordered it and Kreacher tried and tried and tried but nothing works."

"So why not let me try?"

He scrunched up his brow in a fierce scowl. "Because Master is a worthless thieving mudblood and Mistress would not approve of a mudblood's help."

"Not even to complete Regulus' last command to you?" Sure, it wasn't very nice to press that sore spot and play on the elf's divided loyalties, but then Harry wasn't much inclined towards playing fair when it concerned horcruxes.

For a long moment Kreacher wavered with a look of painful indecision on his face before his features firmed, though his shoulders sagged. "Kreacher cannot trust the thief," he said with finality.

Harry stared at him in shock.

"Wow, you really have a way with elves," Iris remarked mockingly.

"Shut up," Harry shot back irritably. "You see if you can do any better."

One eyebrow rose slowly on her forehead and she stared at him for a good five seconds before turning to the elf.

"Kreacher," she snapped, "fetch me the locket!"

With a look of absolute betrayal the elf popped out, leaving a self-satisfied Iris smirking at Harry.

"In my defence, he was quite eager to see it destroyed back home," he said weakly.

"I'm sure," Iris drawled before scowling. "I also don't care. That elf is the most miserable specimen of its species in existence. I don't understand why you tried so hard to be nice, because _he got Sirius killed_!"

Harry sighed. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not! Kreacher lied, Sirius died, end of story." She angrily rubbed away at a stubborn tear.

Things weren't quite as clear-cut as that, Harry knew. Sirius had treated Kreacher terribly, so stalling a Floo call was a passive-aggressive way of rebelling and a relatively minor one at that. The real culprit was Bellatrix Lestrange, who not only fired the curse that killed him but also ordered Kreacher to do as he did.

He vividly recalled Dumbledore telling him exactly that in the Dursley's living room and winced. That hadn't been what he wanted to hear at all.

So instead of getting into an argument, he thought back to a week ago and put his arms around her to draw her tense form into an awkward hug.

"Sorry," she mumbled in his robes, embarrassed. "It still hurts sometimes, you know. And I'm still a little freaked out from earlier."

"It's all right," he shushed her. "You're allowed to be upset. Do you want to destroy the locket some other time?"

"No, let's get it over with." She shuddered. "If this one hasn't been in Hogwarts for years is it at least not as powerful?"

Harry winced. "Would you say Gr-" he choked on the Merlin-be-damned Fidelius and gnashed his teeth - "_Order Headquarters_ is a pleasant or even a neutral place? And then remember that Kreacher has been obsessing over that locket for at least fifteen years."

Her shoulders slumped and she pushed away from his chest to stand on her own again. "For the record, when you're reassuring a girl you're allowed to sugar-coat things like that."

"Oh." Harry scratched his head. He would never understand girls. "In that case, er... House-elf magic is different from wizard magic? Yeah, especially when following their master's orders. Maybe since Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it he was protected?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Hey, you told me to sugar-coat things!"

"Believably! And _before_ smacking me in the face with my fears."

"I'll remember that next time," he grumbled, huffing as he turned away. He wasn't truly upset, but the argument was definitely helping her feel better, so he didn't mind losing one.

Kreacher cracked into existence, his stance wobbly and his eyes crossed. Clutched in his right hand was Slytherin's locket, dangling from its golden chain.

The elf scowled at Iris before looking confused at his trembling left hand.

"Blood traitor Mistress-" he managed to croak before his bulbous eyes crossed almost all the way to his nose and he crumpled like a sack of potatoes as he fainted.

Harry and Iris stared at the haphazard pile of aged house elf limbs in surprise.

"Well, at least we won't have any trouble getting it away from him," Iris said finally, sounding rather satisfied.

Harry hadn't the heart to say something about it. She had a point; it would have taken at least another set of orders from his Mistress before the cranky house-elf would be unable to interfere.

He pried the locket from Kreacher's surprisingly strong unconscious grip and stuck it to the same paint-splattered pillar that had earlier held up the diadem. "Let's just get this over with."

Iris took a deep breath. "Right. Same thing as last time?"

"Speaking of sugar-coating," Harry said quickly, "how about we do this one a bit more efficiently?"

"What now?" she asked, tilting her head backwards to stare resignedly at the ceiling.

"Er, it may be a tiny little bit indestructible unless a parselmouth orders it to open, but if we're quick enough I don't think it'll have a lot of time to taunt us with our worst fears," he rushed out.

She shot him a flat look. "I don't think you understand what sugar-coating means."

"Let's just make sure the tooth is already airborne by the time I open it and everything will work out," Harry said defensively. "If you switch to a Banishing Charm you won't even be hampered by that atrocious aim of yours."

"Not making me feel better," she warned.

Ah, but she also wasn't as frightened as before. "Do you need a refresher on the Banishing Charm? No? Good. On three." He took a step backwards. "One."

Iris yelped and hastily fished her wand from her robes, pointing it at the basilisk tooth lying by her feet.

"Two."

Her wand moved crisply through familiar motions.

"Three." Harry's voice turned to a serpentine hiss. "_Open!_"

"_Depulso!_" Iris barked at the same time, sending the tooth flying unerringly point-first towards the heart of the locket.

The locket clicked open, expelling a black cloud with red eyes.

"Your death is foretold," intoned the voice of Tom Riddle without pause, sounding angry and vengeful, but – most terrifyingly – completely certain that what he said would come to pass.

The tooth flew true and pierced one of the eyes.

The tortured scream was just as terrible as before and the vile feeling of being submerged in evil that followed was possibly even worse. After both were sucked back into the locket as it died and it clattered to the floor, the silence that fell was deafening.

Harry didn't waste time staring at the wretched thing and immediately whirled around to look at Iris.

Her face was even paler than before and she was swaying on her feet. Her jaws were clamped shut, her fists were balled and her eyes were wide with uncertainty and fear.

The thing had chosen it's last words with devastating accuracy; Harry could almost see the thoughts flickering inside her brain. The absolute certainty that Voldemort would keep coming for her and that sooner or later her luck would run out. And when, not if, that happened she would die screaming.

Desperately he searched for the right words to alleviate her fears, but his own worries about the horcrux in her head flared up and he genuinely didn't know what to say. How could he reassure her when his only method for killing Voldemort would kill her in the process? When the most favourable outcome had her commit suicide whereas the worst left her murdered. When those four little words contained so much _truth_?

And then, with the air of depression so thick it was almost tangible, an inner fire roared to life inside Iris. One moment she looked close to giving up and the next defiance flickered across her face as she set her jaw, gritted her teeth and stared daggers at the crumpled locket lying innocently next to a few pieces of ex-diadem.

She took a step closer, followed by another and suddenly she was running. With a furious scream she kicked the remains of the locket all the way across the Chamber and, breathing heavily, she watched it collide with the statue of Salazar Slytherin before losing sight of it. She stared a moment longer before whirling around to face Harry, eyes blazing.

"These pieces of shit-face are getting on my nerves." Her voice wasn't quite steady and her eyes were still a little wild, but she was clearly doing her very best to make light of the horrors of the past hour.

Harry had never felt so proud before in his life.

"You know," he said airily, following her lead, "Voldemort's track record with prophecies is nothing to brag about. He only ever tried to interpret the one and took an AK to the face because of it."

"He's an idiot," she agreed tremulously, but her voice strengthened when she added, "as opposed to you, a genuine professor at Britain's most prestigious school."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Is that sarcasm I'm hearing?"

"Not at all." She shrugged one shoulder faux-casually. "I am well aware of the education you received prior to 'earning' your 'prestigious title'."

Harry stuck his tongue out at her, provoking a real smile, small as it was and let out a breath of relief. She was going to be okay.

"Is that it?" she asked hopefully, sounding bone-weary. "Can we finally get out of here?"

"That's everything. Except, well..." Harry reluctantly pointed to the crumpled body of Kreacher lying in a pile of limbs a few feet away. "We can't just leave him here."

"Well we can't very well carry his traitorous little carcass through the school," she retorted exasperatedly. "Can't you just wake him up?"

Harry winced. "He's exhausted, I'm afraid. He needs to regain a little strength first before he can pop out of here."

"What does that mean?" she asked slowly.

"We have to wait until he wakes up?" Harry said, cringing.

Open-mouthed Iris stared at him, before looking around at the dilapidated chamber filled with creepy statues, a rotting carcass and a pond's worth of filthy stagnant water. Her shoulders slumped and she despondently flopped onto the filthy floor, laying on her back with her legs and arms spread out, uncaring about the filth making its way into her robes and long hair.

"I really hate you right now," she announced in a dead voice, "and when we finally get out of here my vengeance will be brutal."

Harry shook his head at her dramatics with a small indulgent smile while he too made himself comfortable.

"Brutal," she repeated emphatically, raising her head to look at him. "Don't you dare smile."

The corners of his mouth curled up until his teeth showed and Harry couldn't find the will to stop.

Her head slumped backwards in defeat. "I hate you."

* * *

**A/N:** Wow. Your response to seeing a new chapter after two months of silence could not have been more loving. Seriously, there was blushing and smiling like a loon on my part. It was great!

Moving the plot along here a bit, nixing two 'cruxes and hitting upon a rather big issue: Iris has a malignant facial blemish. Yeah, that's going to haunt them for a while. I took some freedom in describing the Chamber and dramatising the horcrux response to getting destroyed, mixing the books with the movies and adding my own spin on things. More lively this way.

Also, introducing Kreacher, who can forgive Harry Potter for being a half-blood if he destroys Master Regulus' locket, but cannot forgive Harry White for being a mudblood either way. Also by weird pureblood name-stealing standards, Harry is a thief and thus untrustworthy. The mind of a bigoted house-elf is a wonderful place to get lost in.

Recommendations. This is getting more difficult because I'm excluding crossovers for some nebulous reason and I can't think of any more dimension travel fics. Which means I'm going to recommend a time-travel one, because Harry travelling back in time to make large sweeping changes until the differences outweigh the similarities amounts to the same thing. Also, anyone who hasn't read Lens of Sanity's The Dark Lord's Equal should feel shame. Or at least a tinge of disquiet. Why are you reading this when you could be reading that?

Next chapter will be in two weeks, that seems to be a sustainable pace for the moment.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	18. What did you just call your hero?

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 18 - What did you just call your hero?**

Harry decided his crystal ball had performance problems.

As soon as the double entendre penetrated his mind he also realised that Tonks was a bad influence, but right now that was just a minor annoyance compared to the offending object on his coffee table.

It sparkled in the light from the fireplace nearby, looking innocent as it rested on its three-legged stand. Harry stood looming over the thing as if ready to start a game of golf, his wand raised over his shoulder in a two handed grip and narrowing his eyes at the obstinate little orb as if imagining what the smack would sound like and how far it would fly.

"Not even good for a weather forecast," he muttered with a scowl. "Bloody useless prop."

He had been practising divining without a wand – he was supposed to teach that to his sixth years at some point – and the crystal ball had seemed like a good place to start. After all, it had spontaneously given him a vision during his first class. Trying to make that happen again should be a natural progression.

The good news was that it worked.

The bad news was that instead of the shapeless white mist that it showed by default, Harry's vision showed shapeless grey mist. Also known as clouds, symbolising trouble.

As far as omens went it was not a good one, but it was also terribly unhelpful regarding the severity, direction and time frame of the trouble ahead. Worse, he couldn't repeat the vision hoping for a clearer version with a wand now that he'd had it. One shot was all he got and he had wasted it on sodding clouds.

He sighed and sunk back in his chair.

Trouble.

Fantastic. Evildoers beware, for he was a master diviner.

Well, there was an obvious direction that he ought to rule out, if nothing else. From now on not a single appropriated teacup would leave his rooms without a thorough inspection. No clue was too small or evidence too thin.

Speaking of thin...

Harry's eyes reluctantly sought an out of the way shelf where his dusty pack of Tarot cards had been dumped, ignored and then forgotten.

His shoulders slumped. That topic was eventually going to come up again in class as well. And yet, his first reading had been absolute rubbish and during his little foray into ritual magic the Fool's card had been both telling and unhelpful.

He sighed and got to his feet. Pursuing all possible leads was not much of a resolution if he broke it within ten seconds of making it. He would just have to grin and bear his dislike for the whole Tarot branch of his current craft.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor he placed the stack of cards on his palm, covered it with his other hand and closed his eyes before breathing in deeply. Holding his breath for a two count, he slowly exhaled and tried to use the relaxing sensation to imagine his troubles floating away like leaves on the wind.

Then he began to shuffle the cards. Breathe in. Shuffle. Breathe out. Shuffle.

The natural rhythm was supposed to allow his magic to soak into the cards, he knew. That didn't do anything to stop him from feeling a little silly, because this, right here, was something Trelawney would have loved.

As quickly as he thought he could get away with he put the shuffled deck back on the table, face-down. One by one he drew the top three cards and turned them over, placing them side by side.

Death was his past.

Harry took one glance at the black cloak and the large scythe before rolling his eyes and moving on.

Five of Swords for his present.

The man in the picture seemed to stare off the flat surface of the card and straight into Harry's eyes as he busied himself with picking up the sharp swords from a sandy arena floor where others had just done battle and lifting them onto his shoulder, clearly intent on keeping them.

Narrowing his eyes at the identical start to his very first try months ago, Harry quickly flipped over the third card.

Lovers.

He smacked his forehead with his palm.

Brilliant. An identical reading to the one months ago, which had made no sense to begin with.

Wearily he rubbed his temples. All right, thinking back it made a little more sense now.

Death featured prominently in his past; he'd figured that out back then as well. And shortly after the reading he had lost his virginity, a magically significant event. Cue the Lovers card.

Still, he only had the one virginity to lose so what was that card doing here again? Clearly it had to mean something else. Fortunately most of its meanings were happy ones, if insanely diverse.

The Five of Swords, though... That one felt like an accusation and he caught himself instinctively shaking his head because it was just blatantly untrue.

It symbolised selfishness and Harry thought he had been pretty damn nice playing Anonymous Samaritan for Iris, giving the DMLE information about future attacks and destroying two horcruxes.

He didn't like that card and his gut clenched unpleasantly the longer he looked at it. There was just something disquieting about the accusation that he only looked out for himself at the cost of others. Every since he understood what that meant he'd tried his best to be a good person and unlike those around him. To not force others to do his dirty work, for example, like some people he could mention.

A twinge of his conscience reminded him that a good person didn't keep important secrets from his friends either, but that he still hadn't shared his fears about the horcrux in Iris' head.

He could just tell her about it and pass the buck, as it were. Her scar, her responsibility. Dimensional counterparts as they were, however, he could predict with reasonable confidence that she would promptly seek to have it removed by way of the Killing Curse – especially if he was forced to reveal that he did the same and survived, regardless of the fact that it probably wouldn't work for her. He would try to dissuade her, of course, but he didn't think anything could have changed his mind back when he learned that awful truth.

Worse, she could go to _Dumbledore_ for a second opinion. That moron _would_ push her to 'welcome her next great adventure'.

Either way meant that just telling her was like passing a death sentence.

Of course, that made his decision rather easy, in that if he couldn't just tell her, then obviously he would keep this little bit of knowledge to himself. The important detail in that scenario was that he would have to then find another way to deal with her malignant facial blemish. And he had no clue as to how.

Harry shook his head to clear it.

The point was, by making the choice he already proved he wasn't selfish. And yet the stupid card accused him of just that.

He sighed and placed the cards back in the deck. As expected: one Tarot reading, unhelpful in the extreme. Now he would have to be on the lookout for Trouble with a capital T and at the same time take care not to descend into selfishness.

Life was so much easier when he thought divination was a hoax.

* * *

The ominous warning coloured his entire week until Friday afternoon, when his instincts jolted as soon as Iris and Neville walked into his classroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it – this was his sixth year class and they were his students – but there was just something anticipatory about Iris' smile that made the hairs on the back on his neck stand up.

Harry frowned. What could possibly be wrong? They were getting along well. In fact, they were getting along marvellously. Like battling a troll had for him, Hermione and Ron, destroying the horcruxes together had firmly cemented the bond between him and Iris. True, she hadn't been all that happy afterwards because of the stupid unconscious elf they couldn't be seen with and even swore revenge-

With a jerk of his head he was just in time to catch her retrieving a four-inch thick, centuries old tome from her obviously enchanted bag and place it demonstratively on her desk. For a moment she gently caressed the cover, removing a speck of dust, before interlacing her fingers and piously resting her hands on it. She looked up, deliberately met his eyes and smiled innocently.

Harry finally knew what the promised Trouble was and he wasn't relieved in the slightest.

"Afternoon class," he began his lecture. "Today we will be continuing with the Mind Arts and focus specifically on reaching that initial trance where we can actually detect the magic in our minds. You should all have read chapters three and seven-"

Iris opened her tome about halfway through with a loud thud as several pounds of leather-bound parchment collided with her wooden desk. Having drawn everyone's attention, she calmly raised her hand. Harry faltered mid-lecture.

"Miss Potter?" he asked warily.

"I think this topic is just _fascinating_," she said with a sugary sweet smile, "so I did some extra reading in the library. Could you explain Prolixunum's seventeenth proposal as it pertains to reaching the trance you're talking about?"

Harry blinked. Who? What?

"Remind me, Miss Potter," he said, a little flustered at being caught out not knowing something he was pretending to be a master at, "what is what's-his-name's seventeenth proposal?"

Her smile widened a fraction as she dutifully moved her finger along the page and quoted, "An it be ye find thy mind not calm nor do surroundings soothe thee, thwartst thou what attracts thine eye and render mute thy senses."

Harry's brain ground to a halt halfway through the recitation of the clearly centuries-old text, possibly transcribed by a barely literate wizard. She did that on purpose.

"I have no idea what you just said," he confessed, irritated.

Iris' eyes opened wide. "But you're the _Divination Professor!_" she exclaimed guilelessly. Harry's eyelid twitched. "Surely you must know everything there is to know about the Mind Arts, including Prolixunum's proposals and principles. I found them through a reference in the book, after all."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you leave that book with me and I'll look it over while you all try to reach the trance you should have read about."

"Of course, Professor," she agreed happily and Harry had to use both hands to carry the ten-pound volume across the room to his desk.

When he turned around he was completely surprised by everyone staring at him and his cheeks coloured in embarrassment when he realised he had completely lost his train of thought. He covered by quickly issuing instructions.

"Well? Go practice your exercises," he chided, treating them as the irritating schoolchildren they were.

"In silence," he added in a warning tone when a low murmur started to grow between various pairs. It cut off immediately.

Having successfully cowed the crowd, Harry bent over the ancient manuscript Iris had possibly literally dug up somewhere and tried to decipher the terrible handwriting and the old language. It took him ten minutes of very frustrating puzzling before he realised Prolixunum was a verbose idiot and he shut the tome with a sigh of relief.

Once again it produced a thud as it slammed shut, jarring the entire class out of their concentration. Whoops.

"Prolixunum's seventeenth proposal states that if you can't reach the trance because you are distracted by what you see, then you should close your eyes," he explained, as if that had been his intention all along.

"Good advice!" Iris exclaimed with a wide smile. Harry looked at her sourly. "Can I have my book back?"

Harry sighed. "Sure."

In a childish show of revenge he made no move to get up and had her come and collect the darn thing from him. Serves her right.

"Are you all making progress?" he asked the rest of the class. A few dubious nods was enough of a response for him. "Then let's continue."

"One moment please," Iris interrupted. The book slammed open again and she quickly leafed through it. "I have another question."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Playing up the dutiful overachieving student to his incompetent teacher was a clever act, but two could play at that game.

"Is it about the book?" Harry asked cautiously.

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Then how about you ask your questions after class?" he posited, inwardly smirking.

"All right," she acceded happily, obediently putting the book away. He got a little worried when her smile stayed in place.

"Say, Lavender," she called out nonchalantly. "Didn't you have a question about your horoscope?"

The blonde's eyes lit up and with a frenzy she dug in her bag for a dozen parchments before spreading them out all across her desk, obscuring the Mind Arts literature from view and bouncing in her seat.

"It's like this," she began, talking at a rapid pace. "Venus is in the twelfth house and ruling which means this is a good time for love, especially since the Moon is in a place of planetary joy. As a Libra myself-"

She went on and on about signs and houses and the importance of a horoscope for personal hygiene or something, all the while looking at him expectantly because this was his _profession_ and he was supposed to care.

Harry shot Iris a pained look.

She smiled back beatifically and he barely suppressed a groan.

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Correction, it was going to be a long month. Harry made a mental note that when Iris promised brutal revenge, she indeed intended to reduce one to begging for mercy and would accept nothing less.

After almost derailing that first class she returned next time with another tome containing obscure facts that a true Master of Divination would probably know, but he didn't. As a teacher he had to allow a few questions every time, but he always cut her off after a few, citing the need to stay on track. At which point she would unerringly start prodding Lavender and Parvati into regaling him with their favourite topic: Trelawney-style divination. Whether they didn't know they were being used or just didn't care, Harry was forced to endure it with a polite, if somewhat strained, smile.

Of course he was just as stubborn as his fellow Potter and didn't let on how annoying he found the whole thing. Instead he spent hours in preparation, looking up obsolete theories and obscure facts and found great satisfaction in every frown Iris made when he knew one of the answers to her questions. She looked increasingly irritated these days, which he took as a small victory.

All in all it made the sixth year class his most stressful by far, but amidst the haze of teaching one class after another the diversity was not unwelcome.

Contrary to what their behaviour in class would suggest, however, Harry thought he and Iris were getting along swimmingly. Outside of the sixth year divination classroom they were friendly and she still stopped by several times a week to just chat and hang out. She was a little more jittery than before, but he blamed that on the stress of their little classroom feud. All in all things were going well.

The only problem was that the Locket horcrux's last words seemed to have dug scars on the inside of his skull, because they would not leave him alone. Every time he saw Iris she would ask if he had made any progress retrieving more horcruxes, and every time his eyes jumped to her scar before he awkwardly forced himself to look away. He knew that she'd noticed, though she'd never said anything, but every time their conversations afterwards became stilted and uncomfortable as she badly hid her disappointment.

It was a Thursday night in October when Iris was once more in his rooms, chattering away about something or other while Harry was bent over his desk, listening with a half ear, but mostly focussed on the cutlery that refused to be Transfigured no matter what he tried.

"-and she won't shut up about the bloody book!" Iris complained, wildly waving her arms. "I think if it was just Potions she would be able to let it slide, but now that I've '_ruined my education with this mockery of a class_' she really can't stand me going off-script in any of the others. And to think, I didn't even want to take Potions!"

The mention of that familiar argument finally caught his attention. "You're talking about the Half Blood Prince's book?"

"Don't tell me she complained about it to you as well" she said exasperatedly.

Harry snorted. "Miss Granger hasn't been back here since your last foray into Divination Territory together. I think it may have scarred her. No, I... remember that book."

"Don't tell me Hermione's right?" Iris asked with a groan. "She's going to be insufferable and you just know she'll start on me attending Divination next."

He tilted his head. "Well, part of her objections are based in jealousy of your shortcut to brilliant brewing, so that kind of weakens her argument. Besides, all things considered it's rather silly to get this upset about a single book."

"Then what's the problem?" Iris burst out, annoyed. "They're just helpful notes. A lot of them. Written in terrible handwriting. But, you know, useful."

Watching her get all worked up Harry couldn't help but feel amused. Merlin, had he ever defended a book that zealously? Being in the right had seemed so important at the time.

Interestingly, now that he was actually a teacher trying to get students to learn something he understood that Hermione had a point, even if she phrased it poorly.

"They can be useful. And as far as recipes go you're delivering excellent work," he said, mollifying. "But what have you actually learned?"

"Potions?" she replied irritably, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

"I would actually call it cooking," he corrected. "Cooking from a detailed recipe. Optimised for exactly your type of kitchen and set of tools, but without the notes on _how_." He tapped his fingers on the desk as he thought of an example when his eyes hit on the crumbs of a delicious apple pie Tilly had taken delight in delivering. "Take baking a pie. It has pastry and filling. Where does the pastry go?"

"Bottom, sides and top?" she guessed, frowning.

"Sure, or you leave out the top depending on the filling. But why put pastry on the bottom and sides?"

"Because the filling won't be held together otherwise, which makes for a messy kitchen," she said with an eye-roll, sarcastically continuing, "and a messy kitchen makes for an upset Aunt Petunia, who will scream, which makes for an upset Uncle Vernon, who by then can not be mollified with pie."

"Right," Harry said curtly, his eyes narrowing at the casual mention of that oh so familiar behavioural pattern in his youth but doing his best to ignore it all the same. "Now, Draught of Living Death calls for sap from a Sopophorous Bean. I know this, because I took great delight in crushing the thing, contrary to the original instructions during that first lesson. But can you tell me why?"

"It has something to do with sleep..." Iris tapped her chin, thinking deeply, before shrugging. "Not sure what kind of sleep though."

"That's more than I remember, at least. But the fact that you don't know whereas you should have learned that last month is telling. More importantly, can you tell me if crushing the bean will work in any recipe?"

She blinked. "Why wouldn't it?"

"I don't know," Harry said with a shrug. "I was never very good at Potions. But from what we've seen in that class, it could turn things orange, cure arthritis, explode or release enough poisonous fumes to kill everyone in the building. Not knowing what you're doing is _dangerous_."

"But I'm doing so well!" she whined. "I'm getting EE's and O's and Slughorn loves me!"

Leaning forward, Harry inspected the way the girl was pouting with a frown.

"Do you actually _like_ Potions?" he asked incredulously.

"No!" she replied immediately before hesitating and qualifying. "Well, not with Snape. But like I said, I'm doing so well now. It's still not my favourite class, but then again Snape is quickly ruining Defence too."

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from dashing her dreams by sharing who actually wrote her beloved notes.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked instead.

She slumped in her chair and crossed her arms. "I can't just go back to using any old book now that I know there's better instructions out there."

"Why not use both?"

Iris blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Learn the original instructions – and the _why_ – but investigate why S- the Half Blood Prince's corrections work. If you phrase it as a research project I'm sure Hermione will be chafing at the bit to help you." The more he thought about it, the more enthusiastic he became. "I actually let this book come between me and Hermione for most of sixth year. Trust me; it's a silly reason to feud."

"That sounds like a lot of work," she said, looking at him dubiously.

Harry blinked. "When has Hermione ever shied away from lots of work?"

"Never," she replied with with a serious frown. "Which is why when she had her little breakdown over the OWLs last year, Ron, Neville and I vowed not to pile on any more of ours."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise because he didn't remember any such thing happening. When she noticed she mirrored his look.

"You didn't?" she asked, taken aback.

"I don't even remember that breakdown you mentioned," he said, shaking his head. "When was this?"

"You must have noticed. Umbridge was running roughshod over everything and the other teachers were only allowed to talk about our educations, which for Hermione was like a constant rebuke she should be studying more. One day it all overwhelmed her and she just holed up in..." Iris voice tapered off and she fell back into her chair in realisation. "She holed up in the dorms."

It took Harry two seconds longer to arrive at the same conclusion. "The _girl's_ dorms. Where Ron and I couldn't go."

He shook his head. Wow. He never knew, but somehow he doubted his Hermione had handled things any better.

"Surely Lavender or Parvati would have said something?" he asked, feeling guilty.

Iris looked at him sceptically. "The Lavender and Parvati you remember must be very different people."

"Not really," he admitted, groaning. "Now I feel like a right arse."

And continuing that train of thought, immediately assuming that Hermione would do Iris work for her if she asked? That was a rather selfish and cruel way of thinking about a friend and not something he was very proud of.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both pondering their smartest friend before Harry smacked his thigh with the flat of his palm, jarring them both back to reality.

"All right. Nothing I can do about it now." He pointed at Iris. "If you want to be a better friend than I clearly was you'll have to do the research yourself. That might be a lot of work. Only you can decide if it's worth it."

She sighed. "I think I'll just ask Hermione's opinion. She understands Potions better than the both of us together."

"And it might be a good way to put this silly feud behind you," he said, nodding approvingly. "Just... be careful with the spells in the margins if you continue using it."

She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like there's a story there..."

Harry fidgeted. "I may or may not have used one of those spells on Malfoy in a fit of anger in my sixth year, not knowing it would almost kill him," he said sheepishly. "Not my proudest moment."

"Oh," she said faintly, paling. "But he was okay, right?"

"After Snape knitted his flesh back together and spelled all the blood back in, sure," he said quickly. "Did I mention how it wasn't my proudest moment?"

Mouth agape, Iris stared at him in disbelief before shuddering and visibly shifting gears. "Speaking of Malfoy, I'm sure I've caught him following me several times now. What really surprises me is that he's done so without trying to hex me, which makes him actually nicer than most of the other students, if very creepy."

"Right, Malfoy," Harry said with an eye-roll, mentally making a note that he should really do something about that Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things.

"Wait," he added suddenly, sitting up, "students are _still_ hexing you?"

"I've gotten used to it by now," she said with a half-shrug. "I make sure to never go anywhere alone and always carry dad's cloak with me. I'm just worried that Malfoy is acting... strange."

Harry sighed. "The reason Malfoy is acting strange is that he's a marked Death Eater now and if he doesn't kill Professor Dumbledore before the end of the year Voldemort will kill his parents."

Iris' eyes opened wider and wider the more bombshells he dropped on her until they looked ready to pop out of her head.

"He _what!?_" she shrieked, jumping to her feet. "Why are you sitting there? We've got to tell the Professor!"

"He knows," Harry said blandly, not real eager to rush to the man's aid.

"What do you mean, 'he knows'?"

Harry shrugged. "Snape told him."

With his renewed vigour in inspecting appropriated tea cups he hadn't missed a single one, including Dumbledore's and Snape's that day. And had they ever made for interesting divining. An ape for a secret enemy with a lamp to the side for a secret revealed had him puzzling for a while, mostly because Dumbledore's enemies were usually rather public about things. The old man was not one for retaliation or punishment, after all. Being his enemy was almost safe.

This belief was strengthened by the last symbol in the cup, the man's probable response to learning of a secret enemy: a suit of armour for facing danger with courage. Harry had just rolled his eyes.

It was Snape's cup that finally made sense of things. A flying snipe for discovery of a fact and a pepper pot for concealed irritation were practically par for the course in the man's life as a spy but the presence of an honest to goodness ferret made his day.

Even in mystical portents in a different dimension that particular moniker haunted the irritating blond. He would likely never be rid of it.

"Snape told him," Iris repeated dumbly, slowly sitting back down. "Why is Malfoy still here? Don't tell me Snape is protecting him."

"He is, but it's not his idea. Dumbledore insisted." Harry's smile at remembering that particular ferret transformation still lingered. "First of all, he's not all that concerned because, let's be honest, it's _Malfoy_. Secondly, Snape is trying to _pretend_ to help him – though the brat isn't allowing much – but in theory he'll have some forewarning of any attempts. Mostly though, it _is_ natural to try almost anything if your parents' lives are on the line. Malfoy is clearly being blackmailed and if Dumbledore were to expel him Lucius and Narcissa would be dead by morning."

Iris mulled that over before saying cautiously, "You almost sound like you agree with him."

Harry snorted. "I despise the little ferret, but if anybody else's parents were being held hostage I would show at least a little sympathy. Plus, I know Malfoy won't actually go through with it if he succeeds at all, which is clearly in question because, again, it's_ Malfoy_."

Iris giggled nervously. "You're sure?"

"That Snape told Dumbledore? Absolutely. That Malfoy is _Malfoy_? Oh, yeah. That his plan will fail?" He hesitated. "I know what the plan was in my world and in the short term that's taken care of." Thank you, Madam Bones.

"If I blow up what he's working on though, he might change his plans long term. Or accept his failure for what it is and try to run, in which case, goodbye Narcissa and Lucius. So that one's still up in the air."

Maybe he could have Tilly inform him of the boy's progress? That way, at least he wouldn't wake up to a castle full of Death Eaters.

Iris frowned unhappily. "But in the mean time there's at least one marked Death Eater student in the castle?"

"Who, from what you've just told me, is one of the few _not_ actually hexing you," Harry said, scowling. "That is just wrong."

"It totally weirded me out," she agreed. "Malfoy should not be nicer than other people."

"Don't joke about this," he admonished. "It's despicable."

"I've been careful not to get caught," she said, but her smile was sad and resigned. "They're just following the Prophet's lead, which is practically dictated by Fudge. The only thing stopping him from sending the Aurors to haul me from the castle and chuck me at Voldemort is the surprise that the Aurors are doing so well on their own. It's making him look like he's doing something while I'm hiding safe behind Hogwarts' walls. So the others read that and see me sitting, eating, talking and conclude I'm a coward who needs... motivation." She shuddered. "I dread the day a big Death Eater attack succeeds because they'll fall over themselves to be the first to throw me to the lions."

"I hadn't realised it had gotten so bad," he murmured. "I'm working on something, but it would probably be best if I caught someone in the act."

"Are you asking me to let myself get hexed while you watch it happen?" she asked, eyes narrowed with indignation.

"No?"

"Good. Because that sounds like a dumb plan and you still haven't outlived my vengeance for your last one."

"How about I refine it a bit?" he offered.

"Although..." she hedged. "There is something you could do for me..."

Harry eyed her warily. "The way you just said that makes me think I should say no already and run for the hills."

She smiled sweetly. "I had another lesson with Dumbledore this week and this time he gave me homework."

Harry let out a breath of relief. Right, the quest for Slughorn's memory. Unfortunately, apart from using Felix Felicis to get him in a talking mood he didn't know how to get the man to fess up.

"I promised to get a teacher to do me a favour," she continued, "and like an idiot I did so before hearing what it was-"

"I used the luck potion last time," Harry interrupted, cutting right to the chase.

She blinked. "Really? What do you need- Wait, what?" She looked very confused.

"Felix Felicis?" Harry tried, not understanding her confusion. "Liquid luck? Smooths over rough edges and nudges events in your favour?"

She stared at him. "First you try to get me hexed and now you're advocating drugging me."

"It's for a good cause," Harry intoned solemnly. It didn't take long for a smile to crack through his mask and he shook his head. "Seriously, it worked last time."

"I doubt that," Iris responded, looking at him curiously, "because I'm pretty sure your Dumbledore never asked you to get your dimensional alternate to attend an Order meeting."

His smile faltered. "What?"

"Voldemort is killing people," she said, suddenly deadly serious and grimly passionate. "The numbers are small now but growing bigger by the week and something needs to be done. The Ministry is fighting him now. The Order has been fighting him ever since his resurrection and Dumbledore never stopped. You know things; things like Malfoy's plan and the fact that he's a Death Eater. Horcruxes." She held his eyes and her voice turned pleading. "Please go to the next Order meeting and help them save more people."

Harry sat completely still, his face blank. He hadn't expected Iris' impassioned plea, but in hindsight it was obvious that this had been Dumbledore's plan from the start. That'll teach him to ask for the high-handed methods to get what he wanted; he didn't like this any better.

It was a good speech, he thought distantly. Tugging on the heartstrings, arousing his saving-people instincts and insinuating he was less useful than incompetents and people he disliked, thus making him want to outdo them. It was clearly rehearsed, but the few elements added on the fly gave it authenticity. Were this in class he'd grade it an Exceeds Expectations, maybe even an Outstanding.

On the surface though, he was just annoyed. He was slowly acclimatising to his new situation and all he wanted was to be left alone, to do what he wanted. Take potshots at Voldemort, sure, but only on his timetable and not under direction of anyone else. One of the good things that had happened was his fledgeling friendship with Iris and Dumbledore using it like this... That just pissed him off.

"No," he said flatly, not leaving any room for doubt.

"Please?" she pleaded. "Don't do it for them; do it for me. For family. The only family we both have."

"No," he repeated, almost before she finished speaking.

"Please," she begged a third time, genuine tears of desperation in her eyes.

"It's not about you," he tried. She didn't take it well.

"It's my damn life on the line and my name on that prophecy," she retorted angrily. "Why won't you help me?"

"Because I want nothing to do with them! I've said that and said that, but they keep pushing-"

"'I don't want to!'" she chanted in a mockery of one of Dudley's tantrums. "That's a childish reason. Give me a good one."

Harry narrowed his eyes and the first stirrings of his temper fuelled his glare. "Just because you don't like the answer doesn't make it childish."

"Just because you say it isn't childish doesn't make it so," she shot back. "Your stubborn refusal to do something as simple as show up at a meeting is costing lives."

"They have no right to demand anything of me," he growled, leaning forward until he was barely touching the seat.

She jumped to her feet. "_They're_ not asking. _I_ am!"

"You're speaking on Dumbledore's behalf!" Harry sputtered. "It's the same thing."

"Don't you dare accuse me of doing this for him!" she growled out. "I think what he did was despicable, but that doesn't give you the right to hole up in your tower, do nothing and ignore the people suffering."

"Is that what you think?" Harry asked, his voice dangerously soft. "That I've been doing nothing?"

She hesitated at the clear signs that his temper was about to erupt, but stubbornness drove her on. "Regale me then," she said mockingly, flourishing her hand in an elaborate inviting gesture. "What have you been doing that is more important than saving lives, than stopping a war," - she narrowed her eyes - "more important than family?"

"In case you've forgotten, I've rather improved your life over the past few months," Harry reminded her with vicious sarcasm. "Do you remember starving this summer? Oh, right, I sent you literally half of what I owned to fix that. Do you remember the letters screaming at you every day? I forced Dumbledore to ban them from the castle. Those attacks that have been stopped? Yeah, I warned the Aurors they were coming."

He tapped his fingers on his chin in mock-thought. "But wait, I think there's one more. Wasn't there something about a pesky immortality problem?" He snapped his fingers as if remembering and pointed at her with a very fake smile. "That's right."

The smile vanished in an instant as he shot her an ice-cold glare. "I led you through destroying not one but two damn horcruxes."

His sarcasm only stoked the fires of her anger until she was quivering on the balls of her feet, her fists balled so tight her knuckles were showing white. "That was a month ago," she said through gritted teeth. "What have you been doing since?"

"Teaching!"

"I meant about the war!" she yelled before closing her eyes and breathing heavily. Straining to manage an indoor voice she asked bitingly, "How many horcruxes have you destroyed, sitting in your tower?"

"They're too well guarded to just go out and fetch them," he growled back. "I am not dying in a half-arsed attempt to save a world that I'm not convinced deserves it."

She stilled completely. "Do you at least have a plan to get them?" she asked tonelessly, not looking at him.

Harry could feel the train wreck approaching at high speed and yet he was powerless to stop it as his temper drove him on. "Why are you expecting me to solve all your problems?"

"You don't, do you?" she said quietly, and something broke in her voice. "Do you even have a plan at all?"

He shook his head in disappointment. "How exactly are you different from the Order if you all think the same thing?"

"I. Am not. Like the Merlin-be-damned Order!" she exploded. "Merlin on a crutch, I've been defending you all this time and you're just as useless as they are! You do something useful once in a blue moon and expect to be patted on the back until the Girl-Who-Lived finally pulls the world out of the fire-"

"I have _never_ been thanked for the sacrifices I've made!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet as well. "You know that better than anyone!"

"But you're not doing anything while I'm told to sacrifice my life in the name of prophecy!" she shouted back, getting right in his face.

"I'm doing everything I can!"

She laughed mockingly, a high pitched malicious sound that sent shivers down his back.

"Then go. To. The. Order. Meeting," she bit out, emphasising each word by poking him in the chest with a sharp fingernail.

"Over my dead body," he spat.

She shrugged in disappointed vindication while looking at him like he'd just crawled from under a rock. "Now I know why you're family," she said with malicious calm. "You're just as selfish as the Dursleys."

Harry stumbled back as if she'd struck him. In all his life, he had never come across as an insult so vile, so eloquent, so _personal_ as being compared to the egotistical, gluttonous, bigoted, prideful, xenophobic, child-abusing Dursley family that sometimes still haunted his nightmares. It was impossible to explain the depths of loathing he felt for those people and their qualities and as such nobody fully understood what they meant to him. Nobody, it seemed, but another version of himself. Iris had meant those words to hurt and hurt they did.

Pain turned to anger and a terrible fury welled up in his chest, bubbling upwards as his muscles tensed and he could feel the blood rush to his face as it reddened.

"Get out!" he snarled in a last-ditch effort to stop himself from truly blowing his top. There would be casualties on both sides if that happened.

"I will not and you can't make me," she screeched. "Dobby holds your leash! That is the only reason you helped me in the first place, the only reason you're still here! You would leave everyone to rot if you had your way, not caring that people are dying, that I'm going to die-"

A sob burst from her throat and she moved to strike him.

War honed reflexes responded to a perceived threat. In under a second his wand was in his hand, a scarlet flash lit up the room and an unconscious girl lay stretched out on the floor.

Harry sat down heavily in an armchair, his breathing loud in the sudden silence and stared at her still form.

What. The bloody hell. Was that?

Where had all that anger come from? They had been building a genuine friendship for a month and now suddenly this?

_What happened?_

He didn't feel even the slightest bit sorry about stunning her. She had been way out of line.

The worst part was how much her words had hurt. Using that insult, comparing him to the _Dursleys_... That was no accident. That was verbal warfare with intent to maim.

It had so much impact, because one of his deepest fears since childhood had been ending up just like them. Already he could feel her accusation fester in the back of his mind. Selfishness. Something he'd worked so hard to never be and now…

He remembered his Tarot readings and the memory of the Five of Swords card filled his vision. Only this time it was not some strange man picking the weapons off the ground, it was him as he used to be, black untameable hair, unscarred face and smirking maliciously as he bore the fruits of others' labour, not caring that flecks of blood still stained the steel.

Selfishness.

There was that word again and with Iris throwing it in his face moments ago he couldn't help but doubt himself.

Was he being selfish?

He had legitimate reasons to dislike and rebel against the Order members, but Iris' point about the horcruxes had a ring of truth to it. If he shared their locations they could devote significantly more resources and manpower to the task of retrieving them than he could on his own. If everything worked out they could clear up the entire matter of Voldemort's immortality within days.

And yet he hadn't because... well, to give them anything felt like acknowledging his kidnapping as excusable. He would have given the information to somebody else, except there was nobody else he trusted to keep it secret.

Considered like that he was effectively prolonging the war and the blood of innocent people was indeed on his hands.

But then again, things might not go well for the Order, either.

Dumbledore had succumbed to the ring once already and that was one of the easier horcruxes to reach. Goblin Headquarters and Death Eater Headquarters respectively were rather dangerous mazes to go treasure hunting in. And with the way that group leaked information like a sieve... they wouldn't have long to complete the whole quest before Voldemort learned of it.

And then there was the issue of Iris' scar. He could just imagine the Order getting tired after finding no solutions and someone casting a Killing Curse at her sleeping form while on guard duty. Trusted as the members were it would be child's play and arguably for the greater good. Dumbledore would lap it up.

So while he was definitely not completely selfless, it wasn't all bad either. However morally skewed, he had good reasons. So what was up with the damn card and the damn unconscious girl on his floor, throwing around accusations like that?

Who was she to… stain his carpet by bleeding from the head? Oh hell.

As soon as he noticed the trickle of blood drip from her earlobe onto the floor Harry dropped to his knees and peered at the side of her head, looking for a wound. With a feather light touch he probed her ear.

It was definitely fresh blood, warm and sticky, but it didn't seem to well up anywhere. Strange. It was almost as if…

Harry narrowed his eyes and dipped his finger into the thin red trail trail, following the sticky sensation up where it disappeared from his sight but couldn't hide from his touch.

A glamour.

With a snarl he cast the counter he used daily on himself and watched her familiar healthy features disappear as black bags revealed themselves under deeply sunken eyes, rimmed with stress lines above hollow cheeks, the skin tight, pale and slightly clammy. The lightning bolt scar on her forehead pulsed an angry red as another drop of blood welled up to start its long descent down towards the floor.

Harry sat back on his haunches, taken aback. How long had she been hiding this? To show this level of exhaustion she must not have been sleeping for weeks at least.

More importantly, what should he do about it?

He was still furious with her and if she wasn't sleeping and hiding that from the world, why should he care?

His conscience tattled on him and Harry closed his eyes and bit back a curse. Fine, she was family and despite everything he understood the immense pressure she was under. That didn't mean that he was willing to wake her up or go easy on her, though. She'd compared him to the _Dursleys_. As far as he was concerned, all friendly relations were hereby suspended.

No, he'd hand her over to Madam Pomfrey as she was; preferably without any awkward questions like, 'Why is the Girl-Who-Lived unconscious and looking like this after being alone in your quarters with you, a male professor with a questionable past?' Come to think of it, with the student body's hex-happy response to her, she might not be safe alone in the Hospital Wing if he just dropped her there.

He needed someone to escort her to Pomfrey and preferably answer some questions about why she looked the way she did, while she needed a bodyguard. There was really only one that fit the bill.

Harry called for his self-declared personal elf and Tilly popped in with great enthusiasm.

"I need you to fetch a Gryffindor sixth year student for me," Harry said without preamble. "Neville Longbottom."

Tilly's eyes went wide. "Elves is not supposed to be seen by students," he said, his voice trembling.

And here he found yet another reason why Dobby was weird. Harry shook his head, unwilling to be distracted. "Neville is a pureblood; he knows what a house-elf is. Are you allowed to be heard by students?"

"On purpose?" Tilly squeaked, hopping from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

"You know what? I'll write him a note," Harry said, dismissing his original idea. "You just leave it nearby and get his attention. Pop in and out behind his back a dozen times, I don't care, but make sure he finds it, all right?"

Tilly nodded and five minutes later he was on his way, carrying a hastily scribbled note and wearing a determined expression.

Alone again, Harry's gaze was drawn back to the still form on his floor.

Why, he wondered. Why was Iris reduced to this pale shell of the girl she had been? Was it the hostility of those around her, the stress of the prophecy, what? Had he just handled the pressure better than she did?

Something must have triggered this weeks ago, around the time they destroyed those horcruxes together-

His eyes widened in realisation at the same time as a timid knock sounded from the trap door to his living room.

"Come," he called out, his mind a million miles away and working at light speed.

"You asked for me, Professor," Neville said hesitantly.

Harry whirled around to stare at him. "Did Iris suddenly start showing signs of stress about a month ago?"

"Why?" Neville asked carefully, the shy boy suddenly replaced by a cautious young man with eyes faintly narrowed in suspicion. For the first time he stared around the room and his gaze locked on the pair of legs sticking out from behind an armchair by the fire.

"Iris!" he yelled, rushing to her side. He laid his hand on her cheek and let out a relieved whoosh of air when he realised she was still breathing.

Angrily he jumped to his feet and whirled around to face Harry, placing himself firmly in between him and Iris. "What did you do to her?"

"I stunned her," Harry said impatiently, before repeating his question. "Did Iris suddenly start showing signs of stress about a month ago?"

"I-" Neville hesitated, before admitting, "She did, right after the two of you went on some kind of adventure together. At first we thought you had done something to her, but Iris wouldn't hear of it, saying you did something amazingly important and we should be grateful."

"She said that?" Harry asked, taken aback, before shaking his head. "Never mind, that's not important right now. You're sure that's when the stress started."

"I am, though she's never looked like this." Neville gestured vaguely behind him and shot Harry an angry scowl.

"She was wearing a glamour hiding her exhaustion," he explained absently even as his suspicions were confirmed. Merlin, he was an idiot for not noticing or even thinking of it.

"Why?" Neville asked accusingly. "What did you do together that left her needing to do that?"

"She shouldn't have-" Harry started irritably before pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath.

"What has she told you about me?" he asked, more calmly, strolling over to one of the empty chairs and plopping into it, gesturing for Neville to do the same.

"The Order of the Phoenix summoned you to do their dirty work and you've been making the best of a bad situation, helping Iris where you can," Neville summarised succinctly. He too made his way to a chair, though he never let Iris unconscious body leave his sight and when he finally sat down he looked much less comfortable than Harry did.

"Your opinion?" Harry asked, curious. Iris _had_ said that she'd told her friends the bare minimum because they were important to her, but they hadn't discussed their responses in-depth beyond their promise to keep quiet.

Neville was silent for a long moment, before saying bluntly. "Hermione and Ron don't like you. Hermione only sees a potentially skilled individual wasting his time teaching Divination whereas Ron can't see beyond you hating his parents. Iris, on the other hand is very clear that you've done great things for her, though she will not tell us what."

"And you?" Harry asked, leaning forward. "I find it curious you'll tell me what your friends think first."

"You've been a good professor," Neville said slowly. "Actually, compared to Trelawney you've been a great professor. Judging just on the times I've seen or spoken with you I'd say I like you. But you are shrouded in mystery and a great many people that I trust have reservations or just outright dislike you. And yet Iris has been singing your praises. Well, up until a few weeks ago."

"Such honesty and loyalty and yet you are a Gryffindor," Harry murmured softly, before clearing his throat.

"About a month ago I was doing something that would greatly offend Voldemort if he knew and I thought Iris might like to witness it. In the process something taunted her with her worst fear."

"Like a boggart?" Neville asked, shuddering.

Harry grimaced. "Let's call it a boggart, though that's not what it was. It told her that her death was a certainty; that Voldemort would kill her and there was nothing she could do about it."

"She would not like to hear that," Neville said slowly.

"Trust me, it was… convincing. Talented." He gritted his teeth. "At the same time it was playing with my fears as well."

Neville quirked an eyebrow and Harry scoffed at him. "No, Mr. Longbottom, I will not share my fears with you. I will, however, point to your friend over there" - he did just that - "and conclude that clearly she took the vile thing's words to heart.

"I thought she was all right and I" - like a Merlin-be-damned idiot dwelling on his own worries and giving no thought to the sixteen year old girl exposed to some of Voldemort's most vile manipulations when she was already under immense pressure - "did not notice the symptoms before today."

"When you stunned her," Neville finished darkly, sounding not at all impressed.

Harry narrowed his eyes and his voice went flat. "She was screaming the most hurtful things she could come up with, made to hit me and should be grateful I didn't fling her from the tower before having her expelled."

For some reason it was this rebuke that seemed to finally relax Neville as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, a pained grimace flickering across his features. "Ah."

"You're not surprised," Harry noticed. "Does she often fly into screaming rages like that?"

"She has twice before," Neville said, wincing before adding hastily, "though never in front of a professor. She really only allows herself to let go like that in front of those she trusts."

He winced again. "Not that she doesn't trust professors," he babbled. "I mean she does, just not always. I mean, not with important things. Life and death stuff, not like homework."

Amused, Harry watched the boy dig a deeper and deeper hole for himself until he finally just mumbled something incoherently and shut his mouth, his face red and his eyes locked onto his lap.

"I'll take that as the compliment I'm sure it was meant as," he said dryly.

"Thanks," Neville squeaked. "Can we please wake her up now?"

"Not just yet," Harry said firmly, all traces of humour leaving him. "Just because I understand part of what motivated her does not mean I can just excuse her doing what she did." Or saying what she said.

Neville jarred upright to stare at him.

"Once you wake her up, you're going to take her straight to the infirmary, looking like this and tell her that if she doesn't let Madam Pomfrey treat her you'll help the woman tie her to the bed," Harry ordered. "I understand she's been having problems with students in the hallways?"

"That's putting it mildly," Neville agreed.

"Then organise your little group of bodyguards to make sure she's not in danger there. If fear has got her looking like this then she should probably not feel afraid to be attacked while she's recovering."

"Won't you help with that?"

"No," Harry said flatly, summoning a warm outer robe and putting it on over his clothes. "I'm leaving."

"What? Where are you going?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the unconscious girl on the floor before resolutely turning away and opening the trap door. "Away. Because that stunner was not just to stop her screaming abuse at me and escalating into violence. It was also to stop myself from responding in kind."

He jumped down the ladder and with a angry twirl of his wand closed the trap door. The wood smacked shut behind him with a loud and final thud that perfectly fit his mood as he stalked down the Divination Tower stairs with a stormy scowl on his face.

Because despite her reasons and excuses Iris had still compared him to the _Dursleys_. At the moment he had no desire whatsoever to see or speak to her.

* * *

**A/N: **Big chapter. Lots of stuff going on too.

Yes, I ran roughshod over the Half-Blood-Prince's book and its plotline. No, I do not feel guilty in the slightest; this story is getting rich on subplots as it is. If it doesn't enrich this story, I'm trying to nip it in the bud.

I don't think anybody liked Iris taking the Order's side last time. She's not, but I'm hinting at why she said the things she did here. Mostly she's a barely sixteen year old girl and everybody seems eager to see her die. She's not coping well with her fears and a scared Potter rarely relies on well-reasoned ideas. Which leads me to the argument. A fight between people with such intimate knowledge of each other was always going to be nasty. I've played around with Harry responding in kind but that descended into the realm of so-broken-it-cannot-be-fixed frighteningly quickly. Thus the expedient solution, though a teacher stunning his student in anger can hardly be called a moderate response.

Finally, no Tonks again and I know people have been missing her. I promise she'll show up next chapter, which will again be in two weeks.

Recommendation: Stories of the Lone Traveler by dunuelos. It's a collection of short stories weaved together through an overarching event: Harry becoming 'disconnected' and travelling to many, many realties, fixing problems as he finds them.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	19. Of course those are real skills!

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 19 – Of course those are real skills!**

It was all over the school the next day: Iris Potter was in the Hospital Wing and hurt bad enough that Madam Pomfrey was keeping her. Speculation ran wild, but everybody agreed that someone must have gotten to the girl and the culprit had not been caught.

Surprisingly the response was not the jubilant student body Harry had expected. After they had been hexing her for more than a month Harry had assumed people would be happy. Instead they scurried by the Hospital Wing in small groups, hoping for a glance of her, only to be turned away by Madam Pomfrey or one of Iris' ever-present friends. It was like people suddenly realised that if the 'attack' had succeeded there would be no Iris Potter left to save them.

Harry stayed utterly silent on the matter. He didn't react when Ron, Hermione or Neville glanced at him from the Gryffindor table. He didn't comment when Iris' seat remained empty during his next sixth year class. As far as he was concerned the ball was in Iris' court; until she apologised she was just another stranger in this messed up world to him.

Predictably, when she did show for breakfast Saturday morning after disappearing for a full day the Great Hall fell utterly silent. Iris ignored it and continued to chat with her friends as she made her way to her seat at the Gryffindor table. She did throw a few alert glances at the other house tables, seizing them up, but her eyes never strayed to the front of the hall where the teachers sat. At no point did she ever look at Harry.

Harry just shook his head and continued eating breakfast. There were plenty of other things he could spend time on that were much more fun than worrying about his counterpart's mood swings. In fact, today had plenty to distract him all on its own: it was the first Hogsmeade weekend.

If the pattern held true like it did in his world then things would get exciting indeed.

* * *

The students descended upon the village like a horde of locusts.

Harry watched from the back as they burst through the gates in their eagerness to leave the confines of the castle, chattering exitedly and scattering in all directions. Hagrid held open the gates and stood watch over the crowd like a tree in a lake but even he swayed as he was almost trampled – no mean feat for anyone, let alone a four foot nothing, eighty pound third year.

Shaking his head Harry let them go first. After all, unlike the little ones he wasn't locked inside Hogwarts' stone walls and only released once in a blue moon. His last visit to Hogsmeade had been only a week ago. In fact, he might have skipped today altogether if there weren't a some particularly interesting events planned for which he wanted a front row seat.

Fortunately at this hour the Three Broomsticks was almost empty. The local crowd stayed away on days like this and while students would fill it to the brim eventually, they had to expend a little energy running around the village first.

Despite all that the booth with the best view of the place was already occupied, by a familiar woman with a heart-shaped face and bright pink hair no less. Tonks was stretched out comfortably, resting her feet on a second chair and sipping coffee from a mug.

"Morning," Harry greeted her amicably, if a bit cool. He gestured to the empty seats around her. "Mind if I join you?"

"I'd be offended if you sat somewhere else," she said cheerily, waving her arm in invitation, almost making a mess as her coffee sloshed wildly. "How've you been?"

Stressed. Offended. Worried. "Fine," he said with a sigh. "What brings you here this early on a Hogsmeade weekend?"

"I'm meeting someone," she said with a smile before leaning forward and adding in a whisper, "and don't spread this around, but Madam Bones asked me to spend my day off in here and keep an eye out for a few people."

Harry nodded knowingly. "Katie Bell."

"How do you-" she exclaimed before her eyebrows rose. "You! Is this one of those things that happened, you know" - she looked around shiftily - "_back home_? Is that why you're here as well?"

"Yup," Harry said smugly. "I was accused of being _selfish_ recently so I thought I'd observe the fruits of my _selfish_ labour."

"You know, you're quite sexy when you're all riled," she smirked saucily, but her expression fell. "Except that it was probably one of my friends that's got you looking like that."

Harry hummed non-committally. "Anyway, if you're here for Madam Bones, why are you off-duty?"

"Well, I first thought she wasn't willing to shell out the galleons for me to gorge myself on coffee and Rosmerta's fine cooking" - the barmaid in question caught the mention of her name and waved a tea towel merrily from behind the bar - "but now I'm thinking it's because of how she knew there'd be action here."

Harry frowned. "She's sending off-duty Aurors after my intel? After months she _still_ doesn't believe it's accurate?"

"Well she could just say that a dimensional traveller revealed he had future knowledge..."

"Ah," Harry said, wincing. Maybe he should be a bit more grateful than he had been feeling towards that woman. If she was going through such lengths to preserve his identity... "Is she worried about someone _silencing_ her source?"

Tonks shot him a sorrowful look. "You really do think the worst of people, don't you?"

"I have cause," he grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice.

"Well, not this time!" she said firmly. "Madam Bones is on your side. Hell, if the Aurors knew where she was getting her intel the entire department would be on your side. We've been saving people left and right and now I'm thinking you were a rather big part of that."

A tight feeling in his chest loosened a little and for the first time in months Harry felt genuine pride; a pride born of doing something worthwhile. He thought might be similar to how he had felt while destroying the two horcruxes but Iris' response to that and their resulting fight had tarnished the memory rather badly.

Here, however, was someone he had an admittedly complicated relationship with showing unvarnished gratitude. More, she was saying an entire department's worth of people were similarly grateful. And though he'd never done anything for the sole purpose of earning recognition, getting it was a pleasant feeling all the same.

"Don't you cry on me like a little baby now," Tonks warned playfully, her hair shifting to her natural brown and back to pink, "I'm not _that_ grateful. You're making me work on my day off, after all."

"Grateful enough to buy me some of that cooking you were praising, though," Harry needled back. "I'm thinking steak, with all the trimmings."

She raised an eyebrow. "At ten in the morning?"

"It is a bit early," he agreed, pursing his lips. "Lunch then."

Tonks perked up, smirking wickedly. "You're still going to be here, then?"

"If history repeats itself nothing will happen until the afternoon at the earliest," Harry said slowly, eyeing her warily, "but if you keep looking like that I might just eat that delicious steak you're buying at another table."

In response she enlarged her eyes, raised her eyebrows and looked at him earnestly, the very picture of innocence. It would have been incredibly moving if she hadn't also morphed the tips of her hair to curl and colour, forming a bright halo around her usual pink spiky do.

"Can you morph wings too?" he asked, completely ignoring the sad puppy look that followed.

"No," she pouted. "Drove my parents mad walking around the house half starkers but covered in downy feathers one summer, but that's just too far off my human shape."

Harry winced. "Yeah, I can't imagine Andi liking that much."

"That's right," she exclaimed, jerking upright in her seat. "You knew my parents!"

"Your mother," he corrected gently.

"You knew my mother!" she blithely continued, not missing a beat. "You should come over and meet up! Tell her how I ended up all domesticated, married with a baby. You'll make her day!"

Harry opened his mouth to decline, but stopped himself. He and Andi had been close back home, though they admittedly bonded over raising Teddy, who didn't exist here. Still, she had been one of the people he had considered looking up, but had decided against as Tonks was her daughter and he'd been hiding things.

Since then Tonks had found out a lot, though and she was keeping those secrets. Plus, it would be nice to see a familiar face from home belonging to someone who he wasn't predisposed to dislike one way or another.

"I'd like that," he said softly. "Does she know about me?"

"I had to confess after the ritual," she said with a wince. "I swear, the woman can just see when I've done something wrong."

Harry closed his eyes and smiled fondly in remembrance. "I remember being out of diapers one day and just using a bunch of cleaning charms on a dirty one while I went out to buy a new pack. Andi was home when I got back and she just just looked at me, eyes glinting and one eyebrow raised. I've never felt more guilty in my life."

"You put dirty diapers on my son?" she whispered accusingly.

"They were _clean_ diapers!" he said defensively. "Just, maybe, not to begin with."

She scowled for a long moment before a snort broke her mask. "I can so see myself doing that too. I could make a pretty decent mother, but responsible?"

They both shuddered at the same time.

"Hey!" she exclaimed when she noticed, slapping him on the shoulder. "You're supposed to defend me."

"What?" He raised his hands. "It's true."

She sniffed in mock-offense and stuck her nose in the air. "A proper gentleman would have defended me."

"A proper gentleman would not dare be seen with you in the first place," he retorted, "so I guess I'm not a gentleman."

"That hurts," she said dramatically, putting her hand on her chest. "That hurts me right here."

Harry's eyes flitted downward for a second and she smiled wickedly. "I much prefer you like this, though."

"That means you'll have to defend your own honour," he warned, ignoring the way his cheeks heated slightly at getting caught peeking. "You're a big, strong Auror, though. You'll be all right."

"Pretty too," she added, "as well as fun and outgoing and flexible in many, many ways and creative-"

"Don't forget modest," he interrupted.

"Modest as well," she agreed, nodding, "and stunning and smart and successful and yet somehow very single."

"When did you give up on Remus?" a familiar voice asked from behind Harry and he jerked around in his seat.

Iris stood not a foot behind him, bouncing on her feet with nervous energy and absently fidgeting with a lock of her as she stared past Harry at Tonks from under one raised eyebrow.

"Uhhh," Tonks dithered, picking up on the sudden tension and looking unsure, "when he did something bad?"

"But you like the bad boys," she said, confused. "You told me so yourself."

"I do," she admitted, "but there's still a line. Which he crossed."

"What did he do?" she asked with a gasp, pulling out the chair opposite her. A quick, uncertain flick of her eyes was the only indication she knew Harry was there at all.

"He thought my whoring myself out to gather information was a good idea," Tonks said slowly, looking between the pair of them uncertainly. "I'm sorry, do you two know each other?"

"Miss Potter is in my class," Harry admitted in a strained tone of voice, rather uncomfortable with both the sudden company as well as the topic.

"Yes, Professor _White_ is my Divination teacher," Iris agreed quickly, before falling awkwardly silent. Harry knew the exact moment when Tonks' answer got through to her though, as her mouth literally fell open in shock. "Wait, Moony did _what_?"

"The Order had just, er..." Tonks mouth snapped shut and she shot Harry a meaningful look. "Is Iris a run of the mill student of yours, or _does she know things others don't_? You know, like a talent, or something."

"She knows the Order summoned me," Harry clarified, his mind running a mile a minute. Tonks thought she knew more than Iris did, when in fact it was the other way around and he needed to keep his counterpart from blurting out that little detail. Without looking at Iris, he added carefully, "She knows that left me a stranger here, with no friends or family."

Tonks nodded in understanding, as did Iris, though she looked a little-wide eyed.

"We've been chatting," he clarified, before adding sourly under his breath, "though that has recently come to an end."

He shook his head and turned to Tonks, his expression one of surprise. "Were you really not going to say anything otherwise?"

"I told you, I keep your secrets, even from my friends," she said determinedly.

"I'm beginning to believe you," he said with a little wonder. "Anyway, she knows almost everything you know so feel free to say what you want."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Iris objected suddenly, looking tense and confused at Harry. "Why are you not at her throat? Since when are you two friends?"

"Almost everything I know, huh?" Tonks remarked playfully with a nudge in his side before turning to Iris. "It's a work in progress and he's only recently stopped yelling at me, so don't feel bad."

"But he's not yelling any more?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Well, he hasn't yet today," Tonks allowed, adopting a tearful puppy-dog look, complete with wet nose and soulful brown eyes far too large for her face as she turned to Harry. "Are you going to yell at me?"

"Fetch." Harry said flatly. "Sit. Roll over."

Tonks sighed and turned back to her normal self. "Unfortunately I haven't managed to fix his sense of humour yet."

Iris giggled and finally seemed to relax a little. "He can be quite funny on occasion," she ventured. "Maybe he just hates animals. Filch is said to guard his cat closely whenever Professor White's nearby."

Harry blinked. Really? Merlin, one conversation gets a little out of hand and suddenly he's gossip fodder.

"Mrs. Norris is not an animal," Tonks said, dismissing the comment with a wave of her hand, "she's a demon in cat form. Who hates me with a vengeance."

"Me too," Iris and Harry agreed at the same time. Their eyes met for a moment before she bowed her head, fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat and Harry turned to stare straight ahead, a frown on his face.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "All right kiddos, I don't need to be a big bad Auror to smell something going on here." When neither of them said anything she smirked. "That's fine, I'll find out sooner or later. Speaking of which, I really need to talk to you, little lady. In private."

"That's fine," she said quickly, almost eager, before bristling, "but don't call me little lady, Nymmy."

"You don't mind leaving us two girls to talk, do you Harry?" Tonks purred. "We're going to share make-up tips and talk about boys-"

Harry rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "Feel free. I know when I'm not wanted."

Iris flinched and dropped her eyes. "I, uh, I actually need to talk to you as well, sir?" she said softly. "I really need to apologise."

She looked highly embarrassed but sounded sincere and a little of the tension left Harry's shoulders. "I'll be around," he promised neutrally. "Tonks promised to buy me lunch, after all."

* * *

Having ambled around the village crawling with students and after picking up the few items that he needed, Harry was just deciding where to go next when he spotted Katie Bell entering the Three Broomsticks among a group of friends. Changing direction midstride, he set course for the tavern as well. Girl talk or not, he wasn't about to miss this.

He entered the pub about a minute behind the seventh year Gryffindor and made a beeline for Iris and Tonks who were sitting hunched over the table holding a whispered conversation. He noticed Iris had her back to the door, but missed the privacy charm surrounding them until it shattered with the sound of breaking glass when he crossed it.

"-use the Black Library," finished Iris in a whisper. She raised her voice and said, annoyed, "Do you mind?" Turning around, she snapped her mouth shut when she recognised Harry. "Oh."

"Sorry," he said distractedly, keeping an eye on Katie and where she and her friends were milling around, looking for a place to sit. "What was that about the Black Library?"

"There's some really rare stuff in there," Tonks said, sounding eager. "Not all of it Dark, illegal and forbidden either."

Katie sat down and Harry picked the seat with the best view of her table. "I never figured you for a bibliophile."

Iris snorted. "She had to replace her Auror manual within six months because one of her many animated doodles started eating the original text. And yet she's asking my permission to go browse." The girl shot Tonks a mock-stern look. "Do your thing, but no doodling in the priceless and irreplaceable but boring books. Hermione would kill me."

"Are you asking me to treat heirlooms of the Ancient and Noble House of Black with the dignity they deserve?" Tonks asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"With the dignity Sirius would have given them," Iris corrected with a wistful smile.

Tonks just grinned. "I can work with that."

Harry shook his head at the byplay and smiled faintly. Sirius might have allowed unspeakable things if it would have made a Potter happy. "Have you ladies finished your little chat?"

"What if we said no?" Tonks wondered.

"Bad luck for all three of us?" Harry ventured. "I'm kind of where I want to be right now."

"You-" Tonks jerked her head around and scanned the occupants of the pub. Her gaze lingered on the brunette several tables down and she whistled under her breath.

"You are," she concluded softly, before reverting to her happy-go-lucky self. "Anyway, we were just about done. I can use the Black Manor and Iris is getting back to me on some stuff she needs to research."

"Hmm," Harry said distractedly. Katie looked to be settling in for a long stay, probably over lunch.

Iris followed his gaze and frowned.

"Are you, erm… hitting on the seventh years?" she asked hesitantly, drawing Harry forcefully out of his staring.

"What? No!" He shuddered. "Irritating little buggers, students."

The corner of her mouth curled up. "Then why are you staring at them?"

Tonks bounced in her seat like an excited toddler. "Ooh, ooh, can I take this one?"

Her face transformed into a broody scowl and in a mock-gravelly voice she intoned, "I have foreseen-" She descended into a coughing fit and finished somewhat lamely, "that things are not as they seem."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What she said, except with less drama. Speaking of drama, I believe someone promised me a steak lunch..."

"Men," Tonks grumbled, but nevertheless gestured wildly to draw the barmaid's attention away from the rowdy students.

Iris shrugged. "It's still better than him hitting on the seventh years."

Tonks gesturing and arm-waving got ever more exuberant the longer Madam Rosmerta didn't see her, but Tonks only took that as a challenge. It didn't take long until more than half the eyes in the tavern were fixed on the crazy woman possibly having a seizure in her seat.

"All right, that's it!" Tonks grumbled after a few minutes, at the end of her patience and moving to get up. "I'm going to teach that girl about priorities and how _not ignoring me_ should be one."

"You" - she pointed at Iris - "do your thing. You" - she pointed at Harry and narrowed her eyes - "no hitting on sixth years either."

Like a whirlwind she tore out of the booth, stalked across the floor and pointedly sat down on table Rosie was taking orders at, frightening a trio of third years into silence. Like she hadn't a care in the world Rosie prodded them into continuing to order, completely ignoring Tonks.

"That won't end well," Harry predicted, but he was distracted by the sound cutting off when Iris put up a privacy charm again. "Why did you-"

"I'm really, really sorry," Iris blurted.

Harry blinked in surprise before carefully blanking his face and silently gesturing for her to go on.

"I was rude and selfish and violent and mean and er..." She faltered before finishing lamely, "not very nice."

Despite himself, Harry snorted. "Not very nice," he mouthed incredulously. She winced.

"I shouldn't have tried to hit you," she acknowledged before squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing thickly. "And I definitely shouldn't have said what I did."

No. No, she really shouldn't have.

"So, why did you?"

"I was scared?" she admitted hesitantly, her eyes still closed. "The world is against me, it feels like, or at least desperately depending on me and I'm just... me. Just Iris; nothing more. I- I can't..."

She shuddered and seemed to dig deep for something before she straightened a little and opened her eyes. "I lost it. It was all too much and what that locket said… It just kept digging in my brain until it was all I thought about, day and night. I couldn't sleep; I could barely eat." One corner of her mouth curled up faintly in a mockery of a smile. "Madam Pomfrey had quite a bit to say about that."

Harry could read the sadness, loneliness and fear in her eyes and he had no doubt that she was telling the truth. He clenched his jaw. "Why me, though? Of all the people to lose it with, why me?"

She smiled sadly. "Because you had helped me with everything else and I had this desperate hope that you would fix the biggest problem too."

He stared at her. "You… compared me to the Dursleys because_ I helped you_?"

Iris squeezed her eyes back shut and hunched her shoulders. "I really am sorry about that," she said, wincing. "I was already fraying at the edges and when you dashed my last hope I just fell apart and reacted."

Harry sat there staring at the girl, a thousand things he wanted to say to her flying through his head. A vicious, hurt part of him wanted to respond in kind, compare her to Petunia and see how she liked it. Maybe add that if this was the thanks he got for helping her, then obviously he should take care to not do that any more. And yet, he couldn't deny that part of him understood.

Not her reaction – he had never been _that_ intentionally hurtful – but the pressure and the fear, those he understood very well.

"I screamed at a lot of people my fifth year," he mused. Iris looked up. "Almost lost Hermione as a friend in sixth arguing about the stupid book." He shook his head. "I never threw the equivalent of a blasting curse in someone's face though."

"I guess we're more different than you thought?" Iris ventured carefully, "because I've er… kind of done something like this before, though not for years. The only difference is that I didn't know the most hurtful thing to say to someone then."

"I guess," Harry agreed doubtfully. "Neville didn't seem quite as surprised as I expected. Where do we go from here, though? Because fellow Potter or not, this will not happen again or I will toss you from that tower."

Iris rapidly shook her head. "The pressure just built and built and built, but that's gone now. My friends declared me 'safe to be around.'"

"And they would know?"

She nodded emphatically. "I think I frightened years off Neville's life once. Trust me, their word is good."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right. New rule: neither of us compares the other to the Dursleys."

Iris nodded, her eyes wide and hopeful.

"You're free to argue with me, fight even, but there will be no more verbal warfare with nuclear fallout."

She nodded again, this time with a small smile.

"You cannot demand I solve all of your problems, regardless how much you would like me to."

Her mouth opened before she snapped it shut with an audible clicking of teeth and nodded once, briskly.

"In return," Harry added reluctantly, "I promise to keep working on your Dark Lord problem, _as I have been_. Because you did have a point, even if it was hidden under all of the abuse: you're the one with all the pressure on her shoulders and that affects you. Because I was busy and you glamoured the bags under your eyes and pretended you were coping I forgot about it for a while and that was wrong of me."

He pursed his lips. "If all that is all right with you" - he drew in a deep breath - "I forgive you."

From across the table Iris lunged for his hand and squeezed for all she was worth, her eyes tearing slightly.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "I promise it won't happen again."

"While I don't care much for most of the people in this world you _are_ an exception," Harry said with a small smile. "I didn't like fighting with you."

"I think that was one of the things you said that hurt the most," Iris confessed. "You didn't want to go to the Order meeting and when I argued that I was asking you as my family you just dismissed it. You didn't even flinch. It felt like being family meant nothing to you; like you disowned me on the spot."

Harry winced. He just hadn't wanted to go to the Order meeting; he hadn't meant anything by it. Still, to hear it from her point of view, if someone had done that to him, act as family and then change their mind and say it didn't mean anything…

"I'm sorry for making you think that. That never even crossed my mind."

Extraordinarily dangerous, this power they both had to hurt each other with thoughtless comments.

Again the tinkling of broken glass announced someone shattering the privacy charm Iris had put up.

"I warn you not to hit on sixth years and here I find you holding hands with one," Tonks complained, her hands on her hips in a mocking posture, but one eyebrow was drawn up in a silent question.

As if their touch suddenly burned both Harry and Iris jerked backwards in their seats with identical looks of distaste on their faces. Laughing, Tonks slid into her seat next to Harry.

"You'll be happy to know that your steak will be the best one Rosie ever cooked," she announced triumphantly, leaning forward. In a lower voice, she added, "Also, Miss Bell shows no signs of the Imperius Curse yet, so as long as we keep an eye on her we're good."

"You investigated?" Harry asked, surprised. "_Discreetly?_"

Tonks sniffed and casually buffed her nails on the front of her robes. "As we already concluded, I _am_ a big strong Auror and all that entails."

"You sat down at her table and flirted with her boyfriend, didn't you?" Iris guessed with a teasing smile.

"Shush, you!" Tonks said quickly, shooting her a look. "Well, how did it go?"

Iris smiled softly, looking relaxed and happy for the first time in a week. "Professor White has forgiven me."

"In exchange for any, er..." - she looked meaningfully from Iris' hand to Harry's and smiled saucily - "_favours_?"

"Nothing like that!" Iris protested with a faint blush. "I just had to promise not to go on a rampage again."

Tonks snorted and playfully elbowed Harry. "Good call."

"Thank you," Harry said dryly. "This is why the two of you needed privacy? To talk about Iris apologising to me?"

"Among other things," Tonks said vaguely. "Speaking of which-"

Iris rapidly shook her head.

"_Not_ speaking of which," she corrected seamlessly, rolling her eyes at Iris before turning to Harry, "is it all right to talk about that little investigation you have me running in front of little miss slowpoke here?"

Iris glared at Tonks, but Harry barely noticed as all his attention was suddenly focused on the Auror. "You know who screwed up the ritual?"

"Maybe," she hedged. "I haven't figured out what everybody used yet, but I do know nobody intended to 'screw up the ritual', as you put it. It's just that a few people made some… uninformed choices."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

"Mostly they just didn't understand," she babbled defensively. "They would never have joined in a Dark ritual if it weren't for Dumbledore's say-so, which is why they didn't know how important the little details were. They knew they needed to bring a sacrifice but not enough to choose one right-"

"_Who?_" Harry asked again, interrupting her.

Tonks winced. "Molly and Arthur?" she said weakly.

Harry stared at her through narrowed eyes as he furiously tried to picture the scene.

Molly and Arthur Weasley, staunch opponents of anything Dark to the point of prejudice. In their daily lives any information explaining how a Dark ritual worked would have been burned or buried without giving it a moment's thought. Enter Dumbledore telling them it is a good idea; that would be about the only thing capable of changing their minds. But the man doesn't explain anything in detail, they just hear sacrifice and use-

"What sacrifice did they use?" he asked abruptly.

"Iris' old sweater that Molly knitted for her several Christmases ago," Tonks said with a sigh. "They understood needing a personal connection to Iris and that it should mean _something,_ but not the deeper implications..."

"What are the deeper implications?" Iris asked hesitantly.

"Depends on which sweater it was," Harry said absently, thinking the details through.

"Well it can't have been first year's because I treasure my first Christmas presents and I always keep them in my trunk," Iris said, thinking out loud. "Aunt Marge's dog tore up my second Weasley sweater. I was furious, but there was nothing left to save. I don't know what happened to third or fourth year's, but it definitely isn't last year's because that one still fits so I planned to wear it this winter."

Harry and Tonks shared a pained glance.

"What?" Iris asked defensively.

"The very fact that you can't remember what happened to those sweaters means you don't care quite that much about them any more," Tonks explained. "The first was special, but the rest has been replaced by newer ones. It's even worse if you actually discarded the old ones, that marks them as worthless in your eyes."

"Even if that's not the case, while Molly made them she gifted them to you," Harry continued. "Since you never gave the sweater back, she essentially sacrificed someone else's property which is much more selfish than giving up something of yourself. In Dark rituals those nuances have drastic consequences."

Wearily he ran a hand over his eyes. "I'm guessing there are more people that did that?"

Tonks shrugged. "Probably. Very few people want to talk about their sacrifices, claiming they were personal. Especially now that I've quite bluntly stated that the whole cock-up came about because they likely messed it up."

"Can't you dig?" Harry asked, irritated, but she shook her head.

"Won't work. At least for a while." She tilted her head to the side. "They might answer if you asked, though. You run a mean guilt-trip that worked wonders on me."

Harry furrowed his brow. "You think that'll really work?"

"Sure. Most of them feel quite sorry about the whole thing, anyway. You should have seen Arthur and Molly after I explained, in detail, what the probable consequences of their little sweater-burning soiree were. There were tears and everything.

"Good," Harry said firmly.

Iris looked scandalized. "You're actually proud of her for reducing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to tears?"

"Well, it's the first time I've heard about some of them actually realising what the consequences of their actions have been," he said defensively. "I was starting to doubt if they were people to begin with and not some kind of hell-spawn native to this world that revel in the suffering of others."

"I've been telling him they regret what they did but it hasn't been getting through that thick skull of his," Tonks mock-whispered to Iris.

"I thought you were toeing the party line!" Harry objected. "Any time you mentioned they were sorry you were in the middle of trying to convince me to attend one of those blasted meetings-"

He stopped abruptly as an idea occurred to him.

"Ny- Tonks, dear, when is the next Order meeting?" he asked, smiling innocently.

Both women stared at him. Iris' mouth actually fell open a bit.

"You- You're actually thinking of going to an Order meeting?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, no," he said slowly, thinking it through, "but I do have questions for all those people, which Tonks thinks only I can get answers to. And there they are, all nicely bunched together in one place..."

Iris' shoulders slumped and she cursed under her breath. "It's not fair how much they're trying to get you to come while you don't want to, but they're still barring me whereas I would actually like to go."

"So come along," Harry offered impulsively.

"They won't like that," Tonks warned, but Harry just shrugged.

"They can either bar the both of us and not get what they want, or let us both in and not get what they want." He gleefully rubbed his hands together. "I like this plan."

The idea of attending one of the coveted meetings was enough to sway Iris and something about it must have spoken to the rebel in Tonks because neither objected all that loudly. By the time the promised steak arrived – and did it ever smell delicious – the topic was dropped completely.

"Katie's getting up," Harry remarked suddenly. "She's going to the bathroom."

Tonks put down her cutlery. "That's my cue."

She stood and made to follow but only managed a couple of steps before stumbling. Reaching for a nearby table to keep her balance she tried keep Katie in sight, but in her distraction grabbed hold of the tablecloth instead of the sturdy wooden furniture.

As if in slow motion Harry saw Tonks fall, her outstretched arm clutching the red and white chequered cloth and pulling on it, dragging the food and drink on top after her. Everything slid sideways along the surface and bunched together at the edge, until a solitary spoon made a dash for freedom and tumbled over.

Like an avalanche the rest followed in one great rush. Cutlery clattered to the floor, tumbling goblets sent pumpkin juice flying everywhere, bowls of mashed potatoes landed upside down with soggy smacks and a single platter of fish and veggies balanced diagonally on the edge while everything slid off the side before it finally dropped too, landing face-up on top of the small pile covering Tonks.

In the dead silence that followed everyone could hear her long sigh of resignation.

Somebody in the back snorted and then everyone was laughing and pointing and getting to their feet in an attempt to see the disaster for themselves. Tonks smiled sheepishly and tried to crawl to her feet only to slip in a puddle of gravy and land on her bottom, which was enough to set everyone off a second time.

"You. Are. Amazing," Harry remarked, shaking his head but extending an arm to help her up. "Only you could get into a food fight with a piece of furniture and lose."

"I will hug you," she threatened, spreading her arms to emphasise the pumpkin juice soaked robes, complete with lumps of mashed potatoes. Her hair writhed around her head like a nest of snakes, spitting out green beans and chunks of butter, like a furry animal in the midst of throwing up.

Harry scrunched up his nose and backed away slowly. "Ah, I think I'll pass."

"Here, let me," Iris said, pushing Harry to the side and pointing her wand at Tonks.

She hit Tonks with a Cleaning Charm and the woman moaned loudly. "Oh, yes, please. Do that again."

Harry's eyes widened and a blush heated up his cheeks. Quickly turning away he gazed out over the crowd, but a lot of people were still standing and he couldn't see past all the bodies.

Suddenly he realised that in all the excitement they had lost track of Katie. As the minutes dragged on and she didn't reappear concern slowly turned to worry.

"Did you see Katie exit the bathroom?" he asked Iris, while straining to look over the crowd.

"Do I look tall enough to look over the heads of all those people?" Iris answered, annoyed, shooting off another Cleaning Charm.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Can you go check if she's all right?"

"And miss this?" she said incredulously, pointing at where Tonks was now being scolded by Madam Rosmerta.

Harry shot her a look and she raised her hands. "Fine, fine, I'm going. What is going on, anyway? You didn't exactly explain before."

"Cursed necklace," he said impatiently. "Months in St. Mungo's and that's if it doesn't kill her."

The blood drained from her face.

"Please hurry?" he said with a meaningful look, adding a small push in the back to get her moving.

Iris shot off like a bludger at game-time and disappeared into the crowd within seconds.

"-don't you dare flirt with me, you look disgusting," Rosie was yelling heatedly. "I cooked that food for my customers to eat, not for you to wear."

"Probably a good thing," Tonks muttered. "It's not all that comfortable."

Rosie threw her arms up towards the ceiling with an inarticulate yell of frustration and turned her back on the clumsy woman, quickly shooting off spells to set the area to rights with the ease of long practice.

"I should make you do the dishes by hand, but I'm far too afraid I won't have any left unbroken by the end of it," she remarked.

Sifting through the debris she picked up a goblet and turned around, pointing at where the edge was folded inwards several inches. "This is solid copper. How did you even do this?"

"_Reparo!_" Tonks called out quickly.

With a groan of protesting metal the goblet bent back into shape.

Tonks hid her wand behind her back and smiled innocently, blinking her wide eyes. "Do what?"

"You're incorrigible," Rosie said, shaking her head in resignation, but the corners of her mouth curled upwards. She pointed to the nearest chair. "Sit, and don't move. You have caused enough damage for one day."

"Yes ma'am," Tonks barked, briskly saluting. A few drops of pumpkin juice flew off her sleeve and hit Harry in the face.

He slowly wiped it off to find both women staring at him.

"I'm not sure if I should admire your patience or just pity you," Rosie remarked slowly. "Either way, please keep her… _contained_?"

Not waiting for an answer she walked off to pay heed to some of her other customers calling for her attention, leaving Harry and Tonks alone.

"I lost track of Katie in the confusion," he said without preamble.

Tonks blinked, before cursing and quickly turning in her seat to look over the room. Suddenly she let out a sigh of relief. "It looks like Iris has picked up the slack for both of us."

Indeed, exiting the bathroom were Katie and Iris, the latter of whom was making wild, nervous gestures as she explained something. The pair made their way over to Harry and Tonks.

"She's fine," Iris said bluntly. "No jewellery of any kind."

Harry coughed. "You ah- You told her?"

"She's in danger," Iris said, confused. "Shouldn't I have warned her?"

"You did the right thing," Tonks said quickly, before turning to Katie. "Miss Bell, has anyone tried to attack you today?"

"No!" Katie exclaimed. "Believe me, I would have screamed bloody murder if they had."

"Did anyone try to give you something?" Tonks pressed. "Maybe a package to deliver?"

"No," she repeated, looking worried. "What's going on? Am I in danger?"

Tonks quickly shook her head. "Your professor had a vision that you might come in contact with a cursed object. Things like that aren't always reliable and we didn't want to worry you, so we're just keeping an eye out."

Katie looked from Tonks, whose robes were still showing a few food stains, to Harry, Trelawney's successor as Professor of Divination and sceptically raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which she let out slowly. "Thank you for your concern, but clearly I am fine. I'm afraid that your, er, vision may have been wrong." Her smile turned a little strained. "Please don't feel the need to follow me around."

Harry smiled politely but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry to worry you, then. Enjoy your day, Miss Bell."

The three of them watched her walk off.

"You're just going to let her go like that?" Iris demanded.

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked defensively. "She clearly doesn't believe in Divination and what other explanation do we have?" He frowned at Tonks. "I wish you would have left that bit out."

"A cover story should always be close enough to the truth that you can make it seem real but not risk forgetting about the details," she recited before arching an eyebrow. "Need I remind you that you did not, in fact, have a vision and that I could also have blurted out that your _unique__ origins_ are the reason for this knowledge that you have?"

"And I am ever so grateful that you didn't," he said quickly, "but I'm worried that the knowledge from my _unique origins_ appears to be wrong. I'm pretty sure she was supposed to receive the necklace in the bathroom just now."

"That's not the point!" Iris interjected heatedly. "Just because she didn't believe us doesn't mean she doesn't need our help and we just let her walk away!"

"So you want to follow her around all day?" Harry asked curiously. "Even though she politely but firmly demanded that we leave her alone?"

Tonks perked up, looked very interested in their debate and Iris hesitated.

"Don't you?" she asked, quickly glancing at Tonks before turning and holding his gaze. "Don't you think that if someone doesn't want to be helped with something this important you should ignore them and do it anyway?"

"That's a loaded question," Harry said slowly.

"I remember this time back in… _my_ first year," Iris said, slightly narrowing her eyes. "The Philosopher's Stone was hidden in the castle and we found out Voldemort was going to try and steal it. Nobody believed us and they all told us to forget about it. We didn't and only stopped him in the nick of time."

"I see your point," Harry said dryly. "And for your information I wasn't just going to forget about helping Katie. We'll just have to be discreet about it." He sighed desparingly. "If only we didn't have Tonks with us."

The woman in question elbowed him in the ribs. "Go back to the question she asked you. I'm interested in your answer."

"If I want to help someone and I can, should I, regardless of their wishes on the matter?" Harry asked, mulling it over for a moment. "If it's important enough… then yeah, I guess so. I have done that, in fact. Several times. Doing it again now isn't that much of a stretch."

Iris smiled knowingly and nodded once.

Tonks just looked determined. "I guess someone's going to be helped whether they want it or not."

"Excuse me?" Katie interrupted, having walked up to them without their notice. "Since you have apparently been following me around all day, did you notice where my friend went? Leanne? I can't seem to find her anywhere."

Time crawled to a stop as her last words seemed to hang in the air and Harry felt icy fingers claw their way up his spine as his mind furiously connected the facts.

In his world, Katie had come out of the bathroom carrying the wrapped necklace. From that point on her friend Leanne had been by her side. It was their arguing that caused the wrapping to tear and Katie's skin to touch the cursed thing in the first place.

Here, though, there was a commotion caused by Tonks, after which Katie _didn't_ have the necklace and _her friend was missing_.

Time restarted and Harry jumped to his feet, sending his chair toppling over backwards and climbed onto the table. Furiously he sought out the seventh-year Hufflepuff among the crowd.

Leanne wasn't anywhere to be found. In fact, the table where she had been sitting with her friends was now empty and Rosie was in the process of collecting the dirty dishes and cups-

"_Accio_ _Leanne's_ _teacup_," he roared, ignoring the weird looks he got and the squeak of the barmaid as the cup soared away from her fingertips and towards Harry's outstretched hand.

As soon as he caught it he jumped back off the table to take his seat again. Quickly swirling the dregs in the cup three times he smashed it upside down onto his own saucer. It took only a second to rush through the mental steps to activate his Inner Eye and then he was peering into the cup as if his life depended on it. Leanne's very well might.

Black specks formed a railway signal in the dead centre of the cup, pointing halfway between 'danger' – where a gun was pictured pointing away – and 'all clear' – where a knife was pictured pointing towards him. In the bottom right a few specks formed a dog and Harry had to squint and really rack his brains before he recognised it as a mastiff and remembered what that meant.

"She's in danger from being overpowered by an argument from someone masterful-"

"I don't have time for this-" Katie said.

"-which is a polite way of saying she's under the Imperius Curse," Harry continued, silencing her. "Fighting her way clear means wounds and pain for her" - he pointed to the knife - "but giving in means death for someone else" - he pointed to the gun.

"Does it tell you where she is?" Katie demanded.

"No," Harry admitted. He racked his brain for any double meanings in the symbols, but couldn't come up with anything.

"Then what good is that?" Katie burst out, frustrated. "If it's even true, how does it help?" She shook her head. "Forget it. I'm just going to do something that I know _does_ work and _actually_ _look for her_."

Katie stalked off and Iris rushed to her feet as well.

"I'm going to go help," she said quickly, running after the girl.

Harry gritted his teeth, feeling useless. Hogsmeade was not a big place, but it had plenty of nooks and crannies and places to hide in, not to mention the miles of countryside around it. The chance that they'd find her in time if she wasn't on the main road was very small.

"That was bloody impressive," Tonks said solemnly. "I've never seen you do that before." She held his gaze for a moment before shooting him a small, confident smile. "Now tell me you have another trick up your sleeve that'll fix this mess."

"I don't-" Harry started, frustrated before he snapped his jaw shut and started looking at the myriad of items around him. "All right, I might have another trick up my sleeve that may help."

Putting his fingers in his mouth he whistled piercingly, causing the entire pub to go silent for the second time that day.

"Rosie," he yelled, hefting a pitcher of water into the air, "is this conjured water?"

"Of course it's conjured water," she replied, confused. "How else do you think taps in a magical village work?"

"Never mind that, do you have any real water?"

"Drinking water?" she asked incredulously, before shaking her head. "No, sorry. I only deal with sane customers and they don't care about that sort of thing."

"Hear, hear!" someone called out in a gravelly voice. Harry ignored them.

"So you do have non-drinking water that's not conjured?" he pressed.

She sighed. "There's a barrel for rainwater out back."

Harry tapped Tonks on the shoulder and handed her the pitcher. "Go."

While she raced off he picked up the copper goblet Tonks had bent and then repaired earlier.

"I don't suppose you have any of these in silver?" he asked absently, looking it over and not daring to hope.

"This isn't that kind of place, Professor," Rosie remarked dryly.

"Then copper will just have to do," he murmured.

Painstakingly he shot Cleaning Charms at every inch of the goblet, removing even the smallest speck of dust. That done, he breathed out deeply, placed the tip of his wand on the piece of silverware and, as then he called for his magic, he _inhaled_.

A little of the magic imbued on the goblet after a decade of being stored in a magical cupboard, moved around on a magical platter and cleaned with a magical brush was siphoned out through his wand and into Harry, making his arm tingle and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. When it hit his chest it expanded into his lungs like a cloud of pleasantly warm air filled with energizing sparks. Slowly and evenly he breathed out again, expelling the magic through his mouth and forming a barely visible cloud with his breath that contained a few faint motes of silver.

"Wow," a young voice whispered somewhere in the silence. Harry smiled smugly.

And then he refocussed and did it again.

Slowly but surely, with each pull a little of the magical residue that the little goblet carried was siphoned away. It took a few minutes, but when he was done the goblet was a little less shiny and more importantly, completely free of any magical influence.

"That's a nice party trick," Tonks whispered, careful not to break his concentration. "I've never actually seen someone do that before. That's really primal magic."

"It's a pain in the arse to learn, is what it is, but if it helps today I'll never complain about it again."

Carefully he took the now half-full pitcher from her. Judging by the smell it was definitely not conjured water. A short but complicated chant with far more guttural sounds than he was comfortable with removed the most important impurities.

"Was that Assyrian?" Tonks asked incredulously.

"The things you learn while camping and thirsty," Harry remarked wryly as he poured a shallow amount into the goblet. "Now, shush."

Clearing his mind he slipped into a Mind Arts trance, bringing to the fore his most recent memory of Leanne, as well as his need to see her and to see around her. Softly he tapped his forehead with his wand and whispered, _"Eminus Adspicio._"

His practice at Augeomency allowed him to feel his Inner Eye respond. Hesitantly and a bit sluggishly it awoke and he carefully fed it the memories of Leanne he had prepared. Like a lighthouse beacon with a faulty lamp, his Inner Eye shone into the unknown beyond, searching, stumbling and then searching some more.

It didn't catch.

"Leanne is not in the Three Broomsticks," Harry said serenely, trying his hardest to maintain his meditative state while issuing instructions to the world outside. "Farseeing doesn't work across ward boundaries. I need you to guide me outside. Bring the goblet. Do not use magic."

With a gentleness that surprised him he felt Tonks grab hold of his arm and help guide him to his feet. With slow and steady steps they made their way through the crowded pub. Nobody they passed spoke louder than a whisper.

Harry could feel the moment they crossed the threshold as his Inner Eye stuttered like a flame about to die. He fed it more magic until it resumed the same searching pattern from before, all the while he fed it memories of Leanne.

Suddenly it caught, like a fishing line drawing taught as a fish bit in the hook.

Harry smiled.

"Goblet?" he asked serenely and moments later the copper piece was placed in his free hand.

In a single fluid movement Harry drew his wand in an arc from his forehead to the copper rim.

"_Exto Mentisoculo_," he whispered with finality before opening his eyes.

The water in the goblet pulsed softly from the centre, forming ever-growing circles that never hit the rim hard enough to cause the water to slosh and obscure the shiny surface. Like looking through a window, the other side showed Leanne walking through Hogsmeade, two brown paper packages clutched under her arm. Her brow was sweaty and every once in a while she would stumble and completely change directions, entering a random street or walk three circles around a tree, only to backtrack and point her feet in the general direction of Hogwarts again.

"I don't see anything," Tonks whispered. "Is the circle thingy telling you anything?"

Harry snorted. As soon as he lost his concentration the mental thread connecting him to Leanne snapped and the vision disappeared until all that was left were the soothing circles on the surface of the water.

"You're not supposed to," Harry said with a smile, tapping the goblet with his wand one final time. "_Finite_."

Carelessly he discarded the goblet in the street and pointed due north. "Leanne is making her way to Hogwarts but she's fighting the curse so she's not moving in a straight line."

Not waiting for another word Tonks set off running and Harry followed in her footsteps, calling out directions as they went. They passed by Iris, who was loudly calling Leanne's name and after another of Harry's piercing whistles she too joined pair in running.

"You found her?" she asked eagerly.

"Farseeing," Harry said briefly, panting. "Explanations later. Running now."

It took a few minutes, but eventually they found Leanne stumbling along an alley, so close to the wall that the packages she was carrying dragged along the rough stone, exposing the shiny bits inside.

"Leanne!" Iris called out. She didn't respond. "_Accio cursed sodding stuff!"_

"No!" Tonks and Harry yelled, but it was already too late as the cursed objects tore free from their wrappings and shot through the air at Iris.

Harry dove out of the way of one, landing roughly on his side and could only look on as Iris tried to do the same and managed to evade one, but was left immobile as the second lethal projectile – the same blue-and silver necklace – unerringly honed in on her.

"_Accio!"_ Tonks called out from behind him.

Inches from Iris' wide-eyes face the necklase stalled in mid-air only to reverse direction towards Tonks, who, unlike the redhead, was ready for it. Stepping to the side and out of the thing's flightpath she held her food-stained outer robe out like a blanket, caught the package in the fabric and immediately dropped it on the ground.

"Nobody move," she barked angrily, "and nobody s_ummon_ _cursed sodding objects_."

"Got it," Iris squeaked, her face pale as a sheet.

From behind him Leanne moaned and crumpled to the ground.

Tonks cursed and sent off a Patronus, presumably to St. Mungo's or Madam Bones. "Did she touch the things?"

"I don't think so," Harry said slowly. "I think she was spun around by the spell and hit her head on the wall. Combined with the Imperius she's got to have a hell of a headache."

Carefully he made his way over to her and put a clammy hand on her forehead. "Leanne? Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

She moaned and opened her eyes. "Gifts."

"Don't worry about them," Harry said soothingly. "We'll take excellent care of them."

She moaned again, something unintelligibly this time and Harry patted her on the shoulder. "We'll take you to Madam Pomfrey too."

"Woo bee nice," she slurred.

"Not to nitpick or anything," Tonks interrupted suddenly, "but you didn't say anything about a second package."

Harry blinked. "Good point. Leanne? Can you tell me what you were going to do with the packages?"

"Gifts," she repeated drunkenly.

"Gifts for whom?"

"Dub- Dubbeldore."

"Yes, Dubbeldore," Harry repeated with a straight face. "I know him. And the second gift?"

"Shh done," she slurred, closing her eyes.

"Leanne? Stay with me. Who is the second gift for?"

"Shh done," Leanne repeated irritably, sounding exhausted. "Shh forr Potterrr. Have to say- say..."

She trailed off and slumped into unconsciousness, leaving Harry, Tonks and Iris all staring at each other.

"Huh," Harry said, baffled. "That's new."

* * *

**A/N:** And I had imagined this to be such a short chapter. In fact, I was convinced of that all the way until Friday when I thought it was almost done at 4,5k words. And then yesterday at 6,5k. And then today every time I took a break from writing. Now, as I look over this monstrosity of a chapter I suddenly realise why I don't have time to publish more than one chapter every two weeks.

There's plot, there's people we've been missing, there's grovelling on Iris' part with Harry showing that he can, in fact, forgive people and there's Harry doing awesome Divination which is really what drew most people to this story in the first place. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did the writing.

Recommendation of the week: The Hardest Riddle by Wheezy1. Harry travels dimensions of his own volition, hoping to pick up enough skills to eventually deal with his own Voldemort. Unfinished, but as it's really a collection of shorter dimensional travel stories I don't feel bad recommending it anyway.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	20. Well, people will be impressed, anyway

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 20 - Well, people will be impressed, anyway**

"All hail the conquering hero," Rolanda Hooch crowed with a mock bow when Harry walked into the staff room Sunday evening.

In a flash Sprout was on her feet and rushing him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing the breath out of him him for all she was worth.

"Thank you for looking out for my Puffs!" she sniffed gratefully. "I'm so happy you were there."

"My Ravens are absolutely fascinated by the magic you used," Flitwick's squeaky voice sounded from somewhere in the back.

"I heard he put on quite the show," Hooch said, eagerly.

"Rushing off to save the girl's life when nobody else even knew she was in trouble is bound to make an impression," Slughorn added in a knowing tone of voice.

Snape snorted. "On the Gryffindors at least."

"No, no," Flitwick interrupted, "my students are all talking about how our colleague used magic the likes of which has not been seen for centuries."

His cheeks glowing, Harry awkwardly patted Sprout on the back, whispering pleadingly in her ear, "Breath is becoming an issue, Pomona."

The portly witch squeezed him even tighter for a second before releasing him, keeping one hand on his shoulder. Uncomfortable with all the attention Harry looked for a change of topic.

"How is Leanne doing, anyway?" he asked.

"Still in St. Mungo's," the portly witch sniffed. "The Aurors took her straight there and it turned out to be a good thing as she just grazed that cursed thing and they found out in time to help her." She let out a breath of relief. "They say she's going to make a full recovery."

Harry smiled warmly. "That is very good news. Anything on how she got the thing? Or on who cursed her?"

"Nothing. She didn't see her attacker." She shook her head and let out a frustrated sound. "It's all due to this blasted war. They're even involving the students now! Is nothing too low for these people?"

If only you knew, Harry thought briefly. Still, the fact that Malfoy was getting off scot-free again was disheartening. He had been inclined to let the ferret be, harmless as he was, but his targeting of Iris had changed that notion rather abruptly.

The door slammed shut behind him and he whirled around to come face to face with Professor McGonagall. The woman looked immensely frustrated, her lips pursed and eyes glinting.

"You are turning out to be even more troublesome than I feared," she said with a huff.

"I hope you are not condemning him saving one of _my students_," Pomona said in a warning tone, taking a step forward. Harry shot her a grateful look.

McGonagall looked startled for a second. "No, no, of course not," she said quickly. "I was just commenting on the er… excitement his actions caused."

"Excitement?" Harry asked with a faint smile at seeing her flustered.

"You do know all the students are talking about you, right?" Hooch said incredulously. "About the 'heroic professor' using 'arcane lore of old' and 'rushing off to save the day'?"

"What?" Harry squeaked, before coughing. "No, I was not aware of that, as such."

"Well, they are," Hooch said dryly. "You made quite an impression."

"Ah, I didn't-," Harry sputtered, "I mean, I wasn't-"

"What exactly did you do?" Flitwick asked curiously. "Important as your actions were from a humanitarian standpoint, the 'Claw in me really wants to find out what amazing magic you have at your disposal." His eyes gained a teasing glint as he added, "Or are we truly in the presence of a second Dumbledore, who cannot be understood by us mere mortals?"

"Merlin, no," Harry said with a theatrical shudder that wasn't completely feigned.

"No beard," Hooch agreed absently, shaking her head. Everyone turned to her and she blushed. "Never mind me, explain!"

"It was just Tasseomancy and Farseeing," Harry said defensively. "It was nothing special or even all that exotic."

"Farseeing!?" Flitwicked squeaked excitedly, bouncing in place.

"Tasseomancy is tea-leaf reading, right?" Pomona asked. Harry nodded.

"Divination!?" McGonagall exclaimed aghast, looking sour.

"With proof of its effectiveness," Pomona murmered softly with a meaningful look. "Maybe you should let go of that Trelawney-induced skepticism you still carry around. Just a little."

McGonagall stubbornly clenched her jaw.

"Never mind Tasseomancy, what about Farseeing?" Flitwick interrupted impatiently.

"Yes, what about Farseeing?" McGonagall agreed quickly. "How did you even learn that? Nobody has practised Farseeing for centuries; I thought the knowledge was lost."

"I'm teaching it to my sixth years in a few months," Harry said with a frown, although he did enjoy seeing the woman flustered. "It seemed silly not to learn it myself beforehand."

"You're teaching-" She seemed speechless. "_How?_"

"What?" Harry asked, looking around in confusion as everyone stared at him with the same kind of surprise. "I tell my students how and then help them as they practice; you know, teaching. It's not really any different from any other spell."

The corners of Flitwick's mouth lifted until he was grinning widely. The little man excitedly clapped his hands and danced a little jig on the spot. "Ask someone who doesn't know a task is impossible to do it and it will then be done."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Impossible?"

"Nobody has managed Farseeing in a long time," Sprout explained gently. "Which is why it is such a surprise to us that you're talking about it so casually."

"I knew nobody used it recently, but I didn't think people thought it was actually impossible," Harry admitted, his cheeks heating slightly. "Wizards are idiots."

Flitwick pushed himself to the front of the people surrounding Harry and excitedly grabbed his wrist, dragging him to the large table in the centre of the room. "Tell me how you did it!"

"I didn't do anything special," Harry protested. "I just learned from a very old book and worked around the limitations."

Retrieving a scroll of parchment, quill and ink from somewhere on his person Flitwick sat on the edge of his seat, poised to take notes like an overly eager student. "What limitations?"

"Er, the implements may contain no magic," Harry said slowly, ticking the item off his fingers, "so no conjured water and the bowl you're using should have no magical residue." Flitwick hummed appreciatively. "Other than that the only big limitation is wards. Farseeing doesn't work across ward boundaries."

Flitwick eagerly wrote everything down, bouncing in his seat in excitement. "What kind of ward?"

"All of them." Harry shrugged. "I think that's when, historically, Farseeing fell out of favour, really. At some point everybody started using as many wards as they could. Fire-protection on their homes, muggle-repelling on their land; there really is no end to their usefulness. Something about their boundaries just interferes with Farseeing."

"That's..." The tiny professor tapped the feather quill on his chin. "You might very well have a point there. But every building in Hogsmeade is warded as well, as is the town itself. How did you manage?"

Harry shrugged again. "I used Farseeing only within the confines of a ward. First I looked for Leanne within the Three Broomsticks; she wasn't there. Then I moved outside, across the pub's ward boundary and looked for her somewhere out in the town-"

"-in between the wards of the buildings and the wards on the town," Flitwick finished. "Genius."

"But this has nothing to do with fortune telling," McGonagall protested weakly. "Why are you teaching this to your sixth years?"

"Because not all Divination is fortune telling," Harry said simply, inwardly grinning. There was just something really cool about getting to show up his stubborn former teacher.

"Look, I have a lot of skeptical older years as well, so I'm putting together a class for them in a few weeks. I've been calling it Divination for Skeptics. There's no reason I couldn't open it to staff as well..." He trailed off.

"Well, no-one can deny that you're as skeptic as they come," Hooch whispered loudly.

"Maybe," the woman said frostily, clearly uncomfortable. Harry took is as a victory that she didn't dismiss the idea out of hand. "In any case, I wanted to talk to you about this _reputation _that you're building_._"

Harry blinked in disbelief. "My what?"

"I have received _five_ requests to join 'the cool new Professor's class'," she bit out. "And those are just my Gryffindors."

"I, er… That's very flattering?" Harry tried, honestly not sure what to say.

"In addition to your escapades yesterday the story about you fighting off a Death Eater attack this summer is making the rounds as well," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I believe Mister Henderson is leading a movement in your honour in Hufflepuff, convincing everyone who will listen that you are the greatest thing since the invention of the wand."

Harry could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and looked down at his feet in embarrassment.

"Then, of course, there is the very vocal minority claiming that you are a fraud who staged the whole scene in Hogsmeade so that you could play the hero."

"I would have expected to find you in that minority," Harry said honestly.

"I was," she admitted. "I'm still not convinced that this wasn't some elaborate show, given your _origins_ and all. Right now I'm just happy that you didn't let any kind of grudge overrule your sense of common decency. If it turns out that you have truly mastered the skills that you say you have..." She fidgeted on the spot. "Well, there is no hard evidence either way, is there?"

Harry was silent, not sure what to say.

"Don't worry, Min," Pomona said when the silence bordered on uncomfortable. "All the excitement will die down in a few weeks. You know how it goes."

"Until then, expect to be the centre of attention," Hooch teased. "Maybe some _special attention_ from one of the older girls, even."

"There will be no _relations_ between staff and students," McGonagall bit out frostily. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "As if I was even interested. Honestly, this whole thing is making me very uncomfortable. I'd rather everything died down."

"But think of the clout you have now," Flitwick said, sounding genuinely distressed. "You have a unique opportunity here, to convince a generation of young minds of the value of lost arts like Farseeing."

"I don't-" Harry started, before halting mid-speech as an idea occurred to him. "Clout, you say?"

* * *

"I'm telling you, he hasn't been near me," Iris said, pointing at Malfoy's name on the Marauder's Map, where it was located in the Slytherin boy's dorms. "If he was the one who cursed Leanne, he's lying low now."

"It has to be him," Harry insisted. "He's been jittery, losing weight and generally looking stressed. He's been following you around and his approach to deliver the same cursed item was similar to what he did in my world. It just doesn't make sense to target you."

"What can I say?" she said weakly. "I'm just more dislikeable than you are?"

It was Monday evening and the pair were standing in an empty classroom just off the Great Hall, watching the streams of students move across the Map as they made their way to dinner.

Harry saw that Iris looked a little stressed herself so he playfully elbowed her in the side. "We are equally dislikeable, thank you very much."

She rolled her eyes but a little of the tension left her shoulders. "I'm just worried about sharing classes with someone I know just tried to kill me."

Harry put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly. "I won't let him hurt you. Neither will your friends, for that matter."

"I just wish we knew what he is planning, you know," she burst out, wildly waving her hands in frustration. "I felt kind of safe when I thought you knew everything that was to come. Isn't there some way we can find out?"

"Not easily." Harry pursed his lips and tapped his chin in thought. "The best way would be to extend my 'spy network' of teacups but I can't ask the elves to bring me only Malfoy's. They'll get suspicious and sell me out to Dumbledore in a heartbeat. I'll lose any advantage I have there."

"But Dobby wouldn't," she said excitedly. "He wouldn't mind doing anything that breached Malfoy's privacy. Or, you know, broke his bones."

"You'd better be the one to ask him, though," Harry said with a wince. "I'm not quite sure what I'd get if I asked, but it wouldn't be teacups."

Iris fondly shook her head, looking immensely more cheerful with a plan to fight her fears. "The pair of you still amaze me."

Harry grumbled something uncharitable under his breath before pointing at the Map. "Here, this group will be in at the Great Hall doors in a minute. Isn't that the seventh year 'Puff you said has been hexing you?"

Iris hummed in agreement before shaking her head. "Her boyfriend is with her though and he always holds her back."

"Oh," Harry said shrugging. "Well, there's plenty of others to choose from."

"Yes, because Merlin forbid Iris not get hexed as she walks down the halls," she said sarcastically. "Did I mention I really don't like this plan?"

"You just have to trust me," he replied absently. "How about this group?"

"Meh," she said after a glance. "Fifty-fifty chance of nothing happening."

The pair stood in silence, watching the names approach before veering off towards the Great Hall. By now three quarters of the students had made their way there.

"Harry," Iris asked softly, hesitantly, "could I ask for a favour?"

He raised both eyebrows at her unsure tone of voice and how she was biting her lower lip. "Shoot."

"It's just, while we're planning me getting hexed… Could you teach me more Defence Against the Dark Arts? Duelling, maybe?"

"I'm hardly an expert," he warned. "You have to remember that I never showed up for seventh year and my teachers were just as crap as yours."

"But you fought a war," she protested. "You have instincts." A blush coloured her cheeks. "You stunned me in a second flat when I moved to hit you. I never even saw it coming. And..." She nervously tugged on a lock of her long red hair. "I don't want to screw up again like I did this weekend. In the heat of the moment I almost killed myself, you and Leanne with a Summoning Charm."

"I do have more experience than you," he allowed, running his fingers through his hair. "What kind of lessons were you thinking of?"

"Anything," she said eagerly, losing her reticence now that he hadn't shot her down immediately. "Nothing I'm learning in class will really keep me alive, you know, if it comes to that. I need to know practical stuff; how to fight!"

Harry let out a weary sigh. "You do know that you should try to avoid those, right? Walking up to Voldemort and challenging him to a duel is a really bad idea."

"If he walks up to me and challenges me to a duel again, though, I'd rather have some extra practise beforehand," she answered pointedly. "You know that trouble usually finds us, not the other way around."

"Good point," Harry agreed, frowning. "All right, we can spend a couple of nights a week cursing each other. It might actually be beneficial for the both of us and teach me as much as it'll teach you."

"Thank you," she said, expelling a breath and relaxing her shoulders. "That means a lot to me."

"Were you really worried?" he asked curiously. "Why?"

"It's kind of war related," she said with a pointed look. "Last time I asked for something didn't really work out all that well."

She glanced at the map again and her eyebrows rose. "Now this group shows promise. McLaggen _and_ Vane."

"Imminent violence?" Harry asked. She scrunched up her nose, but nodded.

"Gryffindors too," she admitted reluctantly.

"All right, off you go then." Patronisingly, he patted her on the head. "Go be a good damsel."

"Do remember that you just agreed to allow me to fire curses at you," she said sweetly, narrowing her eyes. "_Several times a week._"

"Only if you make it there, which isn't guaranteed if you don't get yourself cursed now." He gently pushed her towards the door. "Come on, let's get this over with. I promise to be there in a flash."

She let out a slow breath and plodded towards the door with heavy steps.

"For the record," she repeated, "I really don't like this plan."

Harry shook his head and followed her progress on the Map. Only a few dozen feet away from the classroom her name came to a halt, just as a group of four students rounded the corner and came face to face with her.

"Showtime," he muttered, putting his ear to the door.

"Well, well. What have we here?" a male voice asked mockingly. "One little saviour all alone."

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course, one couldn't have a proper confrontation without sufficient taunting and posturing-

"_Calvorio! Flipendo!_" a female voice shouted and Harry was out the door in a flash.

Iris stood with her side against the wall, knees bent and a frown of concentration on her face as her shield held off spellfire from three assailants. A fourth kept watch for any passers by.

"What is going on here!?" Harry boomed dramatically, making sure to be heard far and wide.

Not waiting for an answer he silently shot off four Disarming Charms, knocking the attackers and lookout off their feet and sending their wands flying. He pointed his own threateningly at Iris, who made a show of gulping and quickly putting away hers.

Stalking towards the group of downed assailants and summoning the fourth to them like a rag doll, he took care to stare down at them for a long moment, looming threateningly, before violently biting out, "Explain."

They stayed stubbornly silent and Harry narrowed his eyes.

He snapped his fingers and to a man they all flinched.

"They've been hexing me all year," Iris interjected helpfully. "They feel I'm not doing enough to save people."

"Is that so?" Harry said softly, oozing menace from every pore.

"Well, she's not!" the tall boy cried suddenly. "She's a coward! People are dying and she's just sitting there. It's her _job_ to save us and _she's not doing it_!"

"I see. Not a very Gryffindor thing to do, is it?"

Iris gasped and all four of them shook their heads, their eyes brightening.

"I mean, there's even a prophecy about her that's very clear, right?" All four of them nodded eagerly. "Like an instruction manual. It actually states the steps she has to take and how to get it done, right?"

McLaggen blinked. "Well, no, but the gist is there."

Harry nodded knowingly and turned to Iris. "Do you hear that? 'The gist is there.'" He shook his head. "I am so regreting my decision not to cuss out students."

"Hey!" one of them objected and Harry whirled around to face them.

"_Silencio!_" he snarled, silencing the lot of them. "I think an object lesson is long overdue."

A flick of his wand had the four bodies levitating and, beckoning for Iris to follow him, Harry strode towards the Great Hall, the four assailants bobbing in the air behind him like balloons with invisible strings.

With a crash Harry slammed open both heavy doors, completely silencing the Great Hall and drawing every eye inside.

Iris quickly scurried for her friends, but Harry strode imperiously down the centre aisle towards the raised dais with the staff table. Suppressing a mad giggle he stepped onto it and turned around so that he was stood in front of the staff table, facing the students, flanked by four madly gesturing, silent, floating Gryffindors.

"Professor White?" Dumbledore asked, sounding only mildly curious. Harry ignored him, instead focussing on casting a silent Amplifying Charm on his voice so that everyone would be able to hear him.

"I've had an interesting couple of days," he remarked casually, his voice effortlessly reaching the far corners of the room.

A ripple of excitement went through the students and Harry realised that Flitwick was right. He _did_ have clout and there would never be a better time to make this point than right now.

"The conflict outside these doors touched one of our students this weekend, but I managed to use Divination to prevent anything worse from happening. And just now I stumbled onto a group of students cursing Miss Potter over a certain _prophecy_. I take it you all know what I'm talking about?"

Hearing a few agreeing murmurs, Harry shook his head, musing, "It's funny how important Divination suddenly appears to have become.

He loudly cleared his throat. "These unnamed assailants" - Harry deliberately didn't look at them but they all 'somehow' bobbed up and down in the air - "felt that the prophecy was crystal clear and that Miss Potter was, and I quote, 'not doing her job'. It occurs to me that as Divination teacher it is really _my_ job to stamp out stupid ideas like that because prophecy is _never_ straightforward and _always_ more complicated than it appears to be."

"But it's been in the _Prophet_!" someone cried out.

"And the Prophet is never wrong?" Harry called back sarcastically. "Wasn't it too long ago that they claimed that V- You-Know-Who _wasn't_ _back_; that he _couldn't be back_?" He shook his head. "No, I'm going to give you a lesson in prophecy, because I think that it is important for you to understand how fickle and treacherous they really are."

Turning around he whispered, "_Flagrate!_" and, using his wand, carved the whole prophecy, from start to finish, in burning letters in the air. He mouthed the words as he wrote them and found his eyes locked to Dumbledore's for the last part.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...  
born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...  
and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal,  
but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...  
and either must die at the hands of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._

Turning around, Harry observed the utterly silent students, all leaning towards him and waiting on his every word.

"Really, the first clue that these things are riddles within riddles is the fact that it isn't a set of simple, step by step instructions," Harry said, unable to completely hide the scorn from his voice. "Instead of clearing things up, prophecies are filled with cryptic descriptions like irrational logic games from hell."

He shook his head. "The second hint that these things have their own rules, however, is a rather blatantly obvious detail that only a few people have asked me about..."

He stared down the Great Hall and asked curiously. "Say that I prophesised, 'he who struggles will succeed', could you all think of someone that might apply to? Raise your hand if you can think of at least one person."

A mass of hands rose in the air. "It's easy, right? Just look for someone who's struggling. It's even nice to think that they might succeed in the future."

He tilted his head to the side. "Out of curiosity, how many of you are thinking of a girl?"

Almost all the hands went down. He nodded knowingly.

"It's because I said 'he', right?" He shook his head. "Unfortunately things are not that simple. Prophecies are about souls, not men or women. The prophet, however, just instinctively sticks a pronoun in there, calling this soul a him or a her and, voilà! people assume things they really shouldn't."

He raised both arms dramatically. "There are a thousand rules like that and even more exceptions that make interpreting prophecy such a dangerous task. To really drive home the point though, I am going to show you an example. But first, Miss Potter!"

Iris startled in her seat. Understandable, as she hadn't known this was coming. "Sir?"

"Could you wait for us in the antechamber over there please?" He pointed to where he had been made to wait with the other Champions in fourth year. "As our potential 'instrument of prophecy' I don't want to give away the game."

She looked reluctant, so he added, "You can take your friends with you if you want. It's just for a few minutes, then I'll call you back in."

Sighing, she nevertheless rose to her feet. Neville, Hermione and Ron followed suit.

"Maybe not Mister Weasley," Harry said suddenly, a wicked idea growing in his mind. He smiled toothily. "I think I may have need of him."

It was perhaps a bit unfair to take his frustration with Molly and Arthur's failure to choose a proper bloody sacrifice out on their son, but Harry was feeling a might annoyed right now. Besides, Ron hadn't exactly been nice to him either and he _did_ need a volunteer.

Iris narrowed her eyes, but Ron shrugged. "What's he going to do? There's like a thousand witnesses in here."

"That's the spirit," Harry cheered. "Come on up here."

He waited until the three others had left for the antechamber and shot a pair of Locking and Imperturbable Charms at the closed door.

"To make sure they don't cheat and eavesdrop," he explained, before turning to Ron.

"Now, we have here one very tall Gryffindor student, but we're still missing something. We need an adversary."

He snatched a salt shaker off the staff table and with an intricate set of transfigurations that he had spent a long time practising, transfigured it into a miniature Voldemort. One Engorgement Charm later there was suddenly a life-sized statue of the Dark Lord standing in Hogwarts' Great Hall among the dinner crowd.

Predictably, people screamed in surprise, some flailed with their food and Ron took a few hasty steps backward, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. Sprout and McGonagall both rose to their feet with worried looks on their faces.

"What?" Harry asked, feigning confusion, but raising his voice a little to make himself heard over the noise. "Oh, you're afraid I'm going to make Mister Weasley here duel a Dark Lord?" He chuckled loudly and seeing him standing so casually next to something they feared so much caused the crowd to slowly calm down a little.

"Don't worry," Harry said, genially patting Ron on the shoulder, "I wouldn't make you fight You-Know-Who. After all" - something in his face and voice hardened - "that would be an _unreasonable_ _demand_ of someone your age, don't you think?"

Ron nodded rapidly, his eyes never leaving the statue of Voldemort, but from a few sharply indrawn breaths Harry thought maybe that message didn't go over everyone's head.

"No, instead let's say that you happen to be nearby when _someone else_ is fighting You-Know-Who. Someone courageous, someone with experience and skill, someone who's done it before." He snapped his fingers. "I know, someone like Professor Flitwick!"

A surprised squeak from behind him almost made him lose focus and he had to work hard to keep his face straight.

"Now, the Professor and You-Know-Who fight an epic duel that lasts for a long time. Alas, the professor is finally hit, but just before succumbing he hits You-Know-Who with a transfiguration in return, like so."

With another twirl of his wand Harry hit the salt-shaker-turned-Dark-Lord with a second spell. This one he hadn't practised as much and as a result the transfiguration wasn't instantaneous. Instead, the statue slowly and dramatically quivered on the spot before the arms and legs thinned and lengthened, making place for four more legs sprouting from its sides. Coarse black hair grew everywhere, the head grew mandibles and half a dozen extra eyes popped up. Suddenly Ron was standing feet away from a life-sized Dark-Lord-turned-Acromantula statue.

The redhead whimpered and his wand-arm – pointed at the spider – trembled violently.

For good measure Harry hit it with an Animation Charm, commanding it to stay in roughly the same spot, but move around a little and look threatening.

"Oh, no, what are we to do?" Harry asked dramatically. "Professor Flitwick is out of the running and You-Know-Who is transfigured, but still alive. While he can't cast magic right now he _is_ very poisonous and strong, not to mention that he will revert eventually."

Grabbing Ron by the shoulder Harry let out a loud breath of relief. "Fortunately Mister Weasley is still here."

Ginny cheered loudly from her seat, but Ron whimpered again and someone in the back snorted. Again, Harry had to work to keep his face straight.

"Now, don't mock him," he chided. "I happen to know that spiders are Mister Weasley's greatest fear and the fact that this one is actually a transfigured You-Know-Who can't help matters. Still, like the courageous Gryffindor he is, Mister Weasley will face his fear."

He levitated the spider so that there was only a blank wall behind it and gestured to Ron. "A Cutting Charm, if you please."

"_Diffindo!"_ Ron cried out immediately, his voice a little more high-pitched than usual.

Harry had planned to jerk the spider out of the way of the curse but the boy's aim was so terrible that he missed by several feet, the curse harmlessly striking the wall.

"Oh no," Harry cried again, gesturing for Ron to stop. "His arm is trembling, throwing off his aim. Whatever are we to do now?"

Shooting an Unlocking Charm at the antechamber door Harry Summoned it open and whistled loudly.

"Should we come back in?" Iris called out, a little irritated.

"Yes, please!" Harry called back.

Hermione, Neville and Iris slowly emerged from their seclusion and looked around curiously. They were distracted by the flaming writing over the staff table, but it didn't take long before they noticed Ron pointing a trembling wand at a giant spider with everyone excitedly looking on.

Iris turned to Harry, hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm just torturing your friend," he answered casually. "He's having trouble with his aim. Do you think you can point his hand in the right direction? I promise you can all sit down afterwards."

Letting out a frustrated breath she marched over to Ron, grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip and pointed his arm straight at the spider. "Will this do?"

"_Diffindo!_" Ron squeaked and this time the curse struck dead on, neatly cutting the spider in half.

Harry allowed the last transfiguration to slowly revert, leaving Ron and Iris standing triumphant, if confused, over two halves of a Dark Lord statue.

"Curious how that happened, isn't it?" Harry asked softly in the silence that followed. "It's especially curious when you realise that Miss Potter did absolutely nothing but _hold her friend's hand_ and _still_ fulfilled this prophecy."

He pointed at the words of fire floating in the air over the staff table.

"If Iris Potter is 'the One' in the prophecy – which we don't know for sure – and You-Know-Who is the Dark Lord in the prophecy – which we don't know for sure either – then 'the Dark Lord' just 'died at the hand' of 'the One'. And Miss Potter didn't even know she had done such a thing until it was all over."

Pacing along the length of the staff table Harry took in the faces looking up at him and found uncertainty and confusion there mixed with worry and fear, but no disbelief or scorn. He smiled.

"The point is," he said gently, "that prophecy is _never_ understood until it's done. They _always_ come true, but _never_ in the way that one expects. Trying to influence one is dangerous in the extreme."

He reached Iris and stood behind her, putting both hands on her shoulders. "Miss Potter is exactly where she needs to be, doing everything that anyone has a right to ask of her or of anyone else your age: she is learning as much as she can. This prophecy, if it is about her, will unfold on its own. Honestly, the more she has a chance to learn the bigger her chance for success. There is _no point_ in trying to rush her."

He stared once more over the silent crowd as people mulled over his words and felt hope stir in his chest. They were actually thinking it over!

Whirling around, he slashed his wand through the air dramatically, extinguishing the fiery words and cancelling the Charms keeping Iris' four assailants afloat and silent.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for each of you," he said softly. They all paled but none protested, preferring to rush off the dais and towards their house table.

Harry watched them go and take their seats among their friends who looked less than thrilled to be seen associating with them after his little public spanking. He smiled.

"Enjoy the rest of your dinner."

* * *

**A/N:** Several people commented that Harry really should have used the point-me spell instead of Tasseomancy and Farseeing last time as it would have been quicker. Curiously, I think that thing is a fanon invention. As far as I know, the only time he used it in the books was in GoF when he put his wand on his palm, said "point me" and the thing pointed north. That's not a find-me-what-I'm-seeking spell; that's a compass. Useful in a maze, maybe, but now? Not so much.

From the beginning, when I thought of working with Divination, the idea of a "you're all idiots, prophecy doesn't work like that"-speech was pretty much a given. From there it turned into this impromptu lecture / public spanking. You need gravitas or a reputation of some kind to pull that off, though. I hadn't planned the hero-Harry moment last chapter to be quite as public as it became, but it ended up coming together into a perfect moment for this thing. It's strange how these things work sometimes.

Sadly I have no recommendation for you today, sorry. My time for reading is extremely limited these days so I can't discover anything new and there's nothing that comes to mind right this second. I know there's more good stories out there, though, so I'm going to make an effort to find something in the next two weeks. Right now I just want to post this - late as it is - and go to bed happy. Writing can be very time-consuming, but fortunately this part always makes me smile.

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


	21. Especially familiar faces

**Disclaimer:** The world of Harry Potter is a marvellous sandbox that J.K. Rowling has graciously allowed us to play in. Nevertheless, it is her name along with those of Warner Bros and Scholastic Press that is engraved on the fence surrounding it, clearly marking the territory as theirs. Regardless of the fun I have shaping sandcastles using my imagination, I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

**0800-Rent-A-Hero**

**Chapter 21 – Especially familiar faces**

With a loud crack Tonks and Harry appeared out of thin air in a back alley amidst rubbish bins filled with plastic bags. Tonks stumbled and balanced precariously over the punguent bins for a bit before she grabbed hold of Harry's shoulder to steady herself.

"Mum has obviously not been by in a while," she commented, scrunching up her nose. "I swear the woman can't help but show off her stupid talent with household spells."

Shaking his head with a faint smile, Harry flicked his wand into his hand and cast an Air Freshening Charm. From one moment to the next the obnoxious odour was gone, replaced by a faint hint of lavender.

Tonks took a careful whiff and shot him a sour look. "Now you're just showing off. You even mimicked the lavender scent she always uses."

He shrugged. "She insisted I learn."

Rolling her eyes she set off towards her parents' house, only two blocks away. Harry shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his muggle trousers and slowly ambled after her.

Being here felt surreal.

After the war, he had apparated into this very same alley, feeling the need to care for his godson but having no idea how, except to just show up and make the best of it. The baby boy was not much of a conversationalist yet, so he ended up spending time with Andromeda Tonks. Together they grieved for her husband and daughter and son-in-law while they watched Teddy gurgle, wave his little arms and legs and struggle to roll over.

With Sirius' dogged loyalty to his godson in mind, Harry decided that this son of a Marauder deserved nothing else from his godfather. So a few days later he returned. Again and again he showed up, until somehow along the way Teddy's attempts to roll over, get up and crawl became a metaphor for their lives.

Andi was the first to point it out. "A madman declared war and killed people that we loved. He hurt us, but you dealt with him and now we're picking up the pieces. And this precious little bundle of soiled nappies is worth our best effort."

This place, this neighbourhood had become a symbol for the aftermath of the war. And here he was, once more ambling along the familiar path, except only days ago he had watched the very much broiling war hurt one of Hogwarts' students. A Dark Lord was still out there, killing people.

"So, there's an Order meeting next Tuesday," Tonks said hesitantly. "You said you wanted to come..."

"I did say that, didn't I," he agreed vaguely.

Even more worrying: Voldemort still couldn't be stopped. The bastard had horcruxes left and Harry had no idea how to recover them. The ring, the cup, the snake... All of them were very well protected.

"I think Iris is looking forward to it," Tonks prodded, "though I think she expects those meetings to be far cooler than they really are."

Harry sighed. Of course the girl was looking forward to it. She was determined to do whatever she could in this war, just like he had been.

Knowing about horcruxes but unable to find them herself, she had tried to pressure him into retrieving the rest. Knowing their side needed fighters, she had sought duelling practice so that if the time came she'd be ready. And if she ever learned about the horcrux in her forehead that kept the Dark Lord alive and killing people, she would choose the most expedient solution and walk straight up to him.

She reminded him so much of himself that he had no doubt she'd do exactly that and he had actually woken up in a cold sweat a few nights ago when that very scene played out in his nightmares.

"Are you going to tell my parents that my son was a leprechaun?" Tonks asked curiously.

Harry hummed absenty. He'd even turned to his trusty crystal ball, which had proven useful in so many recent hairy situations, only this time it stayed frustratingly blank. It was of no help whatsoever, as if the prophecy had pulled rank and ordered all other fields of divination to remain tight-lipped on the subject.

Maddening, that's what it was.

A yank on his elbow jarred him out of his thoughts.

"Would you relax?" Tonks said, exasperatedly. "Are you that nervous about meeting my mother?"

"What?" he said, staring confusedly. "I'm not nervous."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why are you ignoring me?"

He blanched. Ignoring Tonks was a recipe for disaster.

"I might be a little nervous?" he said weakly, jumping on the excuse she'd so conveniently provided him. Only as he did, he realised it was true. "Andi and I became good friends," he said slowly. "I've not had a good track-record with people like that in this world."

She poked him in the chest. "Well, not telling her that her grandson would have been a leprechaun is probably a good start."

He looked at her in confusion. "Why would I do something like that?"

Tonks threw her hands in the air and growled before grabbing his arm and bodily dragging him over to the nearby house that he recognised with a start.

"Oh! Are we there already?" he said sheepishly. "I didn't realise."

Tonks just rolled her eyes and led him inside.

"We're here!" she bellowed into the house, loud enough that if her parents were visiting the neighbours they would still have heard the message.

"In the living room!" an older male voice bellowed back, only barely more restrained.

Following the noise, Harry entered the living room to come face to face with Andi and Ted Tonks sitting on the couch.

Ted had a bit of a potbelly and his hair was graying, but the many laughing lines on his face spoke volumes that this was a man that enjoyed life. Harry spared him only a quick glance, though and focussed on Andi, who looked… more content and years younger than he remembered her. Her robes were more colourful than any he had seen her wear before, though they still exuded the kind of royal elegance he had gotten accustomed to. Unlike Ted, who sat in a kind of casual slump, her back was straight, her strict pureblood upbringing showing in her posture.

"So this is the kid that saw my little Nymmy pregnant and then raised her baby son," Ted Tonks commented darkly.

Harry blinked and instinctively took a step backwards before noticing that there was laughter in the man's eyes.

Ted looked Harry up and down before turning to his wife. "Are you sure I'm not allowed to shoot him?"

"Daad," Tonks whined from the doorway. "Be nice!" She covered her mouth with her hand and added in a conspiratorial tone, "He is very nervous about meeting mum. Maybe you should be more worried about her."

Harry whirled around to shoot her an utterly betrayed look.

"Well, I can't fault his taste," Ted said, grinning widely. "The Tonks' women are fine catches."

"Ignore them, dear," Andi said, rising and reaching for Harry's hand. "I'm afraid one of the consequences of marrying a child is that the real one never quite grew to maturity."

As if trying to prove her point, father and daughter were currently sticking out their tongues at each other behind her back.

Harry watched the goings on with wide eyes. There was so much more life in this house than he remembered, barring the antics of a toddler, of course. Teddy could literally brighten a room by mimicking a rainbow.

Andi shook his hand and gently kissed his cheek. "It is very nice to meet you. We have heard a great deal."

"It is very nice to meet you too, ma'am." Harry smiled awkwardly. "Again, that is."

"Call me Andi, dear. You already know me, after all." She gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. "How did we meet originally? Did my daughter introduce us?"

"Er, no, not exactly," Harry said with a wince, sitting down next to a still-glaring Ted with a wary glance. "I kind of crash-landed a flying motorcycle in your back yard and pointed my wand at you, thinking you were Bellatrix."

Ted snorted and shook his head with a small smile, finally losing his mock-threatening look.

"Hey! You never told me that story!" Tonks plopped down in a seat and eagerly leaned forward. "Fess up."

"I sincerely doubt that you had nothing to do with it," Andi said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. "Crashing a flying motorcycle sounds right up your street."

"Actually, your daughter was nowhere near here," Harry corrected. "She was flying either a broom or a thestral to the other side of England at the time, I forget which."

Andi raised her hand to the ceiling in a there-you-have-it gesture and shot her daughter a meaningful look.

"You can't blame me for that!" she objected, defensively raising her hands. "That wasn't me, that was some freakish other version." Muttering under her breath, she added, "A much cooler one. I've never ridden a thestral. Didn't even know you could."

Her mother opened her mouth as if to say something but seemed to think better of it and turned back to Harry. Suddenly her eyes narrowed to slits and her glare seemed to pin him in place.

"My grandson, whom we will be talking about at great length – I take it you did not introduce him to any such contraption?" she stated frostily.

"No, ma'am," Harry said immediately, suppressing a shiver.

"Good," she said with a firm nod, her eyes warming back up and smiling gently like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "Would you like some tea?"

Harry swallowed nervously. "Yes, please."

Andi turned away from him to pour a cup and he let out a quiet sigh of relief. A good old friend, definitely. Unfortunately she could also be frightening like nothing else.

Beside him Ted noticed and he snickered. It drew Andi's attention who frowned. She carefully handed the cup of tea to Harry and then daintily plopped onto the couch between the two men, hip-checking her husband to make ample room.

"Now, you're going to tell me everything about this child," she said with a bright smile. "I think his name was Teddy?"

"Good name," Ted commented softly. "I'm honoured."

"He was named after you," Harry said with a fond smile, before turning to Tonks, the younger. "Speaking of names, what should I call you? There's too many Tonkses in the room now."

"How about boss?" she offered innocently. "Ma'am? Your eminence?"

"Dumpling," Ted countered. Tonks's face reddened and literally swelled in indignation as she opened her mouth-

"Nymphadora," Andi warned in a frosty tone of voice that brooked no argument.

Tonks deflated like a balloon and her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine," she said without much enthusiasm, "we're all informal here: he's Ted, she's Andi and I am Nymphadora. Just like the other two; rolls right off the tongue."

"Anyway," Harry said, trying to fill the awkward silence, "yeah, his full name was Edward Remus 'Teddy' Lupin."

"Lupin!" Ted and Andi both exclaimed.

Ted frowned slightly. "Remus was the father?"

He shot his daughter a questioning look and she slumped in her seat, her vibrant pink hair wilting to a mousy brown. "Don't worry, that's not going to happen this time."

"I see," he said, tactfully dropping that subject and turning back to Harry. "Was he a good father?"

"Honestly, he didn't get enough time to be one," Harry answered sadly, running his fingers through his hair. "They only had a month together. I do know the idea scared him silly at first and he did some remarkably stupid things then, but I've never seen him as happy as when he burst through the door proclaiming that his wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy."

"All soon-to-be fathers are scared witless," Andi said, throwing an exasperated look at her husband. "Fortunately _that_ usually resolves itself the first time they actually hold the child. _Most of the time_."

Nymphadora giggled and Ted grinned unabashedly, confiding, "I didn't know she was a metamorphmagus so when she started turning blue the first time I held her I may have freaked out slightly."

"I am so glad I knew about that beforehand," Harry breathed, imagining himself in that situation. Seeing the two elders look at him uncomprehending he rushed to explain, "Teddy is one too. A metamorphmagus, I mean. Delights in mimicking his surroundings. I'd walk into the room and he would be coloured like a baby bed or a baby couch or a baby bookcase."

"So cool," Tonks whispered with a blinding smile, immediately turning herself the same colour as her seat. "Does he speak yet? At what age do babies learn to speak anyway?"

"Yeah, he started a few months ago," Harry said enthusiastically. "Not much, maybe two dozen words, but he, er… He actually called me dada..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling like he'd been punched in the gut.

Next to him Andi sucked in a sharp breath.

"You sound like you loved him a lot," Ted said softly in the silence. "It's both both beautiful and heartbreaking, to be honest."

"Love," Harry corrected him with a sharp look, "present tense. He isn't dead; he's just… not here."

Ted blinked in surprise before gently smiling. "Of course."

"I like to think that he's happy," Harry mused, lost in thought now. "He's still got his grandmother, so that's good."

He nodded to Andi, who was busy glaring at her daughter. Seeing that made his heart swell because that was _exactly_ what the other Andi would have looked like if someone had dared to threaten her grandson.

"It's not really my place, but I am very sorry my daughter caused you two to be parted like that," she said, still scowling.

"Thank you," he said with a wince, remembering those chaotic last moments in his old world and his desperate attempt to keep Teddy out of harm's way.

It didn't escape her notice and her eyes narrowed. "What else?"

Nymphadora moaned and slumped over, hiding her head in her hands. "We didn't know," she whispered. "I swear to Merlin and Morgana that we didn't know."

There was a beat of silence before Ted remarked off-handedly, "That's probably not a good sign."

Harry sighed. "When I was… called, a vortex appeared and almost sucked in Teddy, but I managed to save him.

Andi let out a harsh breath and closed her eyes, clenching and unclenching her fists. Finally, after thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence she pinned her daughter in place with a glare that could have flash-frozen boiling water. "What's done is done, but you and I are going to have a long talk about not repeating such mistakes in the future, _understand_?"

If possible, Tonks wilted even further, but she gave a small nod of assent.

"Okay, mum," she said in a small voice.

Shaking her head, Andi turned back to Harry and made a clear effort to relax the tension that had come over her. "Will you tell us about him?"

"I would love to, actually," he confessed. "I've not really gotten the chance to before. Well there was that one time after I found out that 'Amanda' was really your daughter when she begged me to tell stories and I did, but..."

"-it wasn't exactly a friendly audience or relaxing atmosphere at the time," she finished for him.

He nodded and she clapped her hands. "Well, fortunately for you, I am _very_ eager to hear stories about my counterpart's grandson. And you and my daughter have made up, or at least enough to be in a room together without hexing each other, so by all means, tell us… Was he cute?"

"Adorable," Harry answered with an involuntary smile, before coughing. "In a manly fashion, of course."

"Of course," Ted agreed with a straight face.

Harry shook his head, losing himself in a happy memory. "I remember this one time when he'd been having fun crawling as fast as he could until he hit something and then turned himself that colour like some kind of chameleon bumper car. He did that for a while and as you ran after him, spelling every surface with Cushioning Charms, you called him 'such a boy'. Teddy got this cute look of determination on his little face and with all the speed he could muster, rushed for a pink pillow in the corner, one of his mother's old ones. He hit it and promptly turned himself bright pink from head to toe. He was so happy, loudly cooing and gurgling as if proud to prove you wrong."

"He was a natural metamorph, then?" Nymphadora asked eagerly, enthralled. "Could do anything he wanted?"

Harry snorted. "Like I said, he liked colouring himself like a baby bookcase, but he didn't understand everything yet. I often found him asleep on the lower shelf, looking like a very strangely shaped version of the book next to him. That was pretty common."

"Well, at least he's not a conventional bookworm," she said proudly.

Time flew by as everyone prompted Harry for stories that he greatly enjoyed remembering and sharing. In a way, it felt like he was bonding with the Tonks family for a second time. Only where before he and Andi bonded over raising her grandson and grieving for her daughter, now the Tonks' daughter invited him into their midst and the whole family allowed him to celebrate the life of a child that would never join them.

"I needed this," he murmered, surprised, before the others' silence made him realise that he had said that out loud. He promptly felt his cheeks heat up and ducked his head in embarrassment.

"I feel comfortable here," he confessed softly. "It's like talking with old friends and I haven't been able to do that in a very long time, at least not without some kind of baggage mucking things up." He sighed and lifted his head, meeting Andi's eyes and watched them soften. "I know you're not 'my' Andi, but you're honestly very close to her. I really am very, very grateful that you invited me."

She smiled softly. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're very glad you came." A host of complicated emotions flashed through her eyes before she lowered them. "It's terrible what happened to you and I'm glad to be able to help out, even if it's just a little."

"A lot," he corrected, relaxing back in the couch. "I've not felt this unburdened in months."

"Well, there is anything else that we might help, be sure to mention it," Andi said kindly, before getting to her feet and steeling her voice. "Dora, join me in the kitchen for a moment."

Nymphadora's eyes widened and she reluctantly got to her feet. "All right."

The pair left the men alone in the living room and Ted sipped from his mug as he eyed Harry.

"You did right by not-my-grandson, you know," he remarked. "You're a good man, Harry White."

Harry blinked. "Thank you, but-"

"Of course," Ted continued as if he hadn't spoken, "a father cannot help but ask any man, good or not, what his intentions are towards his daughter."

Harry blinked and stared incredulously at the man from under one raised eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Ted nodded solemnly and shrugged. "She likes you and brought you here. That's kind of how this works."

"I..." Harry started, before shaking his head and giving it up as a bad job. "I have no idea. First I hated her, but liked Amanda, who was her without the baggage. Since finding out about that I've been angry and distant, but she's been really nice and we're… kind of friends now, I guess? I just don't know if we can move beyond what happened, or if I want to."

"Makes you think what kind of man you want to be, doesn't it?" Ted mused, nodding along. "Do you want to be the kind of person that will let a big mistake stand between him and happiness? Or do you want to be the kind of person who can forgive someone for making such a mistake if they've tried everything they can to both make up for it and not do it again?"

Harry shot the man a sour look. "That's a rather biased way to ask that question."

"Not any less valid, though," Ted shot back, grinning toothily. He slapped his thigh and got to his feet. "You think on that, while I go interrupt my wife yelling at my daughter."

The man opened the door to the kitchen and stuck his head around the corner. "Do I need to buy all new cups and plates again?"

Instead of angry yelling, however, his answer was a squeal of happiness from his daughter.

"Mum's agreed to help!" she called out happily.

"She has convinced me," Andi said with a sigh, before correcting herself. "Actually, _he_ has convinced me."

Feeling like he was missing something, Harry called out, "Did I do something?"

There was an awkward moment of silence before all three of them filed back in to the room. Nymphadora made her way towards him, grabbed his hand in hers and gently tugged on his arm, prompting him to rise

Harry shot her a questioning look, but was silenced by the strangely solemn expression on her face before she met his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" she asked seriously.

Harry blinked before smiling wryly. "A month ago I would have said no instantly." She didn't return the smile and he frowned. "Is everything all right? Does it matter?"

She tilted her head and thought briefly before smiling wryly. "Surprisingly not," she confessed, "but please answer the question anyway."

"You're not making a lot of sense," he complained but she didn't say anything and he sighed.

Did he trust her? Honestly, he would never have dared come here if he didn't. True, she'd done some bloody stupid stuff, but her actions since then had been commendable. She'd even helped him, opposing the Order and her friends in the process.

He opened his mouth to put her mind at ease because, yes, he did trust her, when a sudden realisation made him snap it back shut with an audible clacking of teeth.

It was perhaps ironic that the identity of Harry White was beginning to fit him so well that he was forgetting that he had another identity buried beneath it. Harry White may trust her, but what about Harry Potter? Judging by his suddenly sweaty palms he wasn't at all ready to share that little gem with her, despite how comfortable he felt here in familiar surroundings.

"The only person in this world I trust more than you is Iris," he said slowly but honestly. "I trust you a great deal."

"That girl is fiercely loyal to you," she said, before frowning. "Do you trust her more because she had no part in summoning you?"

"Among other things," he said vaguely, before smiling a wicked smile. "She's far more innocent than you are."

Andi sighed in the background, but Harry's attention was on Tonks, who moved in closer until their faces were only a few inches apart.

"That's good enough for me," she said softly, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you for trusting me. Please keep that in mind."

She smiled then, a warm smile full of joy and happiness and a hint of desire. It drew Harry's attention to her full lips which were inching closer and closer...

"_Stupefy,_" she whispered gently.

Everything went black.

* * *

Harry woke up as a jolt of adrenaline rushed through his veins. The stone floor felt very cold to the bare skin of his back, butt and legs and with a start he realised that he was naked but for a bed sheet covering him. He tried to get up, but thick ropes tied his arms above his head. A second set kept his legs from moving, effectively immobilising him. For a moment he struggled before giving it up as a bad job and defeatedly letting his head slump back onto the floor.

"Please relax," Tonks' voice came from not far away, frightening the life out of him and setting his heart racing.

"Tonks?" he asked. "What the hell?"

The sound of bare feet on cold stone followed before Tonks walked into view, her bare legs disappearing into a bright pink bathrobe tied with a matching sash. Above it she was wearing Amanda's face, complete with long blonde curls styled like they had been when he had first met her.

"I asked Iris to find out something," she said nervously. "You said that you would help someone even if they didn't want you to, as long as it was important enough."

He eyed her warily and roughly swallowed, trying to still his rapidly beating heart. "This is not helping."

"Not yet," she said with a nervous smile. "But I am going to do you a favour. I'm going to take away as much of your scarring as I can."

"You what?" He tried to reach for her, forgetting about the ropes only to be forcefully reminded as they drew taut, almost pulling his arm out of his socket. "This isn't funny Tonks. They're Dark magic scars; nothing can be done about them."

"I'm sorry about the theatrics, but I'm much better at asking forgiveness than permission." She frowned down at him. "And you know enough about magic to know that there are almost always loopholes."

Something about the way she said that made unease coil in his gut. "Where are we, Tonks?"

She swallowed. "We're in the Black family ritual room. I asked Iris for permission to use that too."

"Ritual room?" Harry's voice climbed an octave and his eyes darted to and fro along the chamber.

Softly lit by candles as it was, Harry could nevertheless make out the finely carved circles and runes in the floor, walls and ceiling as the light glinted off silver and gold accents.

"I really don't like this, Tonks. Untie me."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't. I'm going to help you, even if you don't want me to."

With deft movements she untied the sash at her waist and rolled her shoulders, causing her bathrobe drop to the floor. Underneath it she was naked except for the wand in her hand.

For a moment Harry stared at her, captivated, before he realised what he was doing and yanked his head to the side, his cheeks burning hotly. Then he realised she had sodding kidnapped him and turning away from someone like that out of embarrassment was a really bad idea.

He turned his head back, working hard to keep his eyes on her face and to his great surprise her cheeks were coloured just as much as his must be.

"This will be a ritual fuelled by regret, my regret," she spoke, faster now. "Unfortunately it _is_ Dark and needs a fraction of the pain the wounds originally inflicted. It will be shared between us so I promise it won't be as bad as the first time. Just in case, my mother is in the other room so there's a trained healer nearby should anything go wrong, okay?"

Harry swallowed again. "Andi knows? She is helping you?"

"You only have yourself to blame for that one." A hint of the familiar teasing glint reappeared in her eyes. "She wasn't sure at first and insisted on meeting you, but you convinced her quite nicely. She said that I had to do everything I could to help a man as nice as you."

She smiled softly. "Remember that you trust me."

Without any further warning she suddenly yanked the bed sheet off his naked body.

The air in the room was cold on his bare skin, which instantly broke out into goosebumps and Harry yelped.

"Shush now," she said, laying down next to him. "This part is kind of important and I think we'd both rather you didn't mess it up.

"Tonks," he whispered warningly, but she closed her eyes and her face took on a look of intense concentration that he didn't dare break. Rule one of any ritual: _do not deviate from the script_.

"_Mea culpa_," she breathed out, doing something with her wand out of sight and suddenly a wall of magic smashed into him from all directions like a tsunami, taking his breath away.

Hairs stood up everywhere on his body, like an army of ants was trying to pull them out of his skin. Slowly the feeling intensified, turning from pulling into tickling and tingling and then pinching everywhere as the sensation seeped into his skin. It converged on one of his scars, a small one on his thigh, where it burned fiercely, like a white-hot flame. Suddenly it flashed brightly and Harry groaned as the scar pulled loose from his skin with the sound of strip of tape ripping, leaving only slightly blemished pink flesh behind.

One second the scar was burning on his skin, the next a white light shot like a comet from his thigh to Tonks' and she whimpered in pain as an exact mirror duplicate of the scar carved itself into her flesh.

Harry's eyes grew wide, but he never got a chance to say anything as that was the moment that all his scars started burning one by one. Even worse, the agony penetrated his very bones as they seemed to crawl inside his skin along the break lines that Madam Pomfrey mended all those months ago.

He yelled and thrashed against the ropes holding him in place as his skin came alight like a furnace, shooting angry sparks from him to Tonks, the many sounds of scars ripping off his skin swelling like a thunderstorm. She, on the other hand, had nothing to hold her in place and flailed around on the floor as little motes of fire hit her one after the other. At one point her hand touched his and they clung to each other like anchors in the ritual-induced storm.

It took five minutes before the magic surrounding them disappeared, leaving them both breathless and panting, her body half-covering his, her head on his shoulder.

"Ow," Tonks said pitifully after a few minutes.

Harry groaned and tried to lift his head, but the muscles in his neck protested and he let it slump back onto the floor. Trying to ignore the developing full-body ache, he stared at the ceiling.

"You regretted using a dark ritual to kidnap me, so you kidnapped me to use me in a dark ritual," he said hoarsely.

Tonks grunted, but didn't move.

"I was right," he concluded. "I didn't like that plan. Untie me."

"Don't wanna move," she protested weakly.

"Well, I do," he said grumpily.

She didn't move and he swallowed, a little worried. "Tonks?"

"Yeah?" she whispered in his ear.

"You didn't just remove my scars, did you? You took them."

She was silent for a moment. "You said it. Can't cure Dark magic scarring. I could move it, though. Just another sacrifice."

He could feel her smile into his shoulder and he didn't understand why until it dawned.

"You're a metamorph," he breathed.

"I'm awesome," she corrected.

"You can morph away the scars like they were never there."

"They _were_ never there," she said, still smiling. "This is Amanda's form, after all, not mine. I just can't ever take this form again without showing up scarred."

"That's… that's..." Harry struggled for words.

"Worthy of giving Tonks what she wants and not making her move?" she asked hopefully.

Despite himself, he snorted. "Not a chance."

She moaned reluctantly, but nevertheless rolled away from his side and over to her wand which had been flung against the wall during the ritual. To his surprise she didn't point it at his bonds, but instead cast an unlocking charm at the door before slumping back onto the ground.

"We're done, mum," she called out.

Andi didn't wait a second before storming into the room, her wand in her hand and a worried look on her face. Harry squeaked and instinctively tried to cover his nakedness only to be forcefully reminded that he was still tied down.

"None of that, now," Andi said brusquely. She shot a quick Diagnostic Charm his way, but almost immediately moved to stand over her daughter.

"You know I'm not a metamorph," she scolded, pausing to mutter several incantations. "That means that when you do stupid things like this the grey hairs you give me are here to stay."

"Didn't mean to worry you," Tonks said weakly.

"But you did!" Andi snapped, punctuating with a sharp jab of her wand. Stripes all across Tonks' body glowed a harsh yellow. "Screaming, silence and then I find my daughter covered in angry red scars."

"Which will be gone as soon as you lift that sodding hex," she whined. "Besides, you agreed that this was the right thing to do."

Andi paused mid-cast and glared at her daughter. "Because you had to make up for doing something even worse. Something that, I will have you know, also gave me grey hairs when I found out."

She narrowed her eyes and cast her spell again, peering at a spot several inches above her daughter's navel before her shoulders slumped in relief. With a tired motion she slashed her wand through the air.

A thin transparent film seemed to detach itself from Tonks' skin before dissipating. Immediately her body flowed like melted wax and within seconds Amanda's scarred features were absorbed, making place for Tonks' natural form and heart-shaped face, showing not a single inch of blemished skin.

In a flash Andi was on her knees and wrapped her arms around her daughter in a fierce hug.

"You're going to be fine," she whispered.

"I know, mum" Tonks gently patted her on the back. "Everything worked out. How's Harry?"

"Still tied up," Harry grunted, trying for annoyed, but he couldn't help but feel a little moved by the family drama feet away.

"Indeed," Andi said, letting go of her daughter and instantly regaining her brusque demeanour. "It wouldn't do to exacerbate any injuries before I have time to check you out."

Harry blinked. "I thought you did that already."

"I checked if you were in danger of dying immediately," she said dryly. "You'll be happy to know you're not."

"Can you at least cover me with the sheet again, then?" he asked almost pleading, before adding in a furious whisper, "I'm naked here!"

"I'm sorry, but no," she said apologetically. "I have to be thorough, but I'll try to be quick." She frowned. "That doesn't mean that Nymphadora has an excuse, however. Put some clothes on, young lady."

Tonks grumbled, but reached for her discarded pink bathrobe while Andi started firing spells at him, starting at his feet and slowly moving upwards along his body. Harry let his head rest on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to ignore his mortification and pretend he was anywhere but here.

After what felt like an hour of extreme embarrassment he felt the soft touch of thin cloth cover his lower body and with a sigh of relief he realised she had covered him with the sheet again.

"Thank you," he murmured, opening his eyes.

Andi hummed distractedly as she cast spells at his torso and head. "I think everything worked out the way it was supposed to..."

Her voice trailed off as her eyes widened before she shook her head and cast another silent spell at his body, though nothing happened. She blinked and raised an eyebrow before quickly schooling her expression.

"What?" he asked, with narrowed eyes. "So help me, if she messed me up even worse-"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said quickly. "I… The ritual healed a lot of damage."

"Oh, thank Merlin," he said, sighing in relief. A quick spell vanished the ropes around his wrists and ankles and finally he was free to move once again.

Ignoring how every muscle ached and throbbed he sat up straight and clutched the sheet to his waist. "Where are my clothes?"

"In the corner," she said, pointing to a neatly folded stack of clothing, shooting a glance between him and her daughter. "I think I'll leave you two alone to talk, then."

Harry ignored her as she left and focussed instead on dressing himself without dropping the sheet and baring himself to the room again. When he was finally clothed, he turned around and noticed that he was alone with Tonks, who sat on the floor in the opposite corner, clad in her pink bathrobe with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was absently rolling her wand between her palms and eyeing him with blatant curiosity.

"Your scars are much less obvious," she murmured.

Involuntarily Harry looked at his hand and stared as he slowly turned it around. Where before thick ropes of grey scar tissue had criss-crossed along his skin, interrupted by complete patches where it had been regrown, every blemish had now faded into a pinkish white as if they were years old. The lines were also much thinner, as if the wounds that had caused them had been thin cuts instead of deep life-threatening gouges.

Slowly, Harry lowered himself to the ground, his back against the wall and his eyes not leaving his healed skin. Hesitantly he rolled up his sleeve.

It was the same along his wrist and arm. All the scars were faded, some of the scars were even missing entirely. Even the patches of regrown skin showed more vitality and looked more natural as if it was a blend of original and new flesh.

"I'm sorry I couldn't take everything," Tonks gently interrupted his thoughts, "but as only one of the group responsible for bringing you here, this is the absolute best I could do."

"How did you even know how to do this?" he asked, frowning.

"I got the idea off You-Know-Who, actually."

Harry's head shot up, aghast and she laughed breathlessly.

"Madam Bones was annoyed because when You-Know-Who attacked her this summer she drove him off and hit him with a Dark Piercer, only later he was seen without a scratch on him. Apparently there does exist a cure for Dark magic wounds, as long as you have the morals of a Dark Lord." She gestured vaguely at the door and the Black Manor beyond. "I wanted to help you, so I read up on Darker healing methods. Turns out that a popular one is to transfer wounds onto a human sacrifice, killing them in the process. I wasn't willing to do that, but the idea of transferring wounds was sound."

She spread her hands. "Some more research and here we are. Now I can honestly say that I did everything I could to help you."

"You have a rather high-handed way of helping," he said with a sigh. "Was it really necessary to stun me and tie me down?"

"I know you well enough to predict what you would have said, had I given you a choice," she said with a raised eyebrow. "You deserved to be helped but you were never going to give permission." Her smile turned impish. "Besides, like I said, I'm more of a forgiveness than permission kind of gal."

Forgiveness… There was that word again.

Involuntarily he was reminded of Ted's words. Did he want to be the kind of person who could forgive someone if they did everything they could to make up for their mistake? Even if they did so in the most irritatingly deceitful way that involved a lot of pain on his part?

"Huh, I never realised that your hair used to be black," Tonks commented. "Makes you look a lot younger."

Harry reached for his head in surprise. "You even cured my hair?"

"Yup," she said happily, sounding very satisfied. "In fact, you really look quite different now. The scars drew a lot of attention away from your features. Features which are kind of familiar, for some reason."

An icy chill ran down his spine and his head jerked around to stare at her with wide eyes.

"Did you know you look a lot like James Potter?" she mused.

"Funny, that," he said with a strangled voice.

She snorted. "It really is. I never noticed before but one of the scars on your forehead even looks… like..."

Her wand dropped from her hand as her mouth dropped open.

Harry closed his eyes in weary resignation and let his head slump backwards against the wall.

"You're a Potter!" she breathed.

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, thank you everyone who very politely did not call me an idiot while pointing out I made _two_ mistakes in _quoting_ the prophecy last time. I know that every chapter has a few blemishes, but really, that many errors while _copying_ from the book? I'm blushing up a storm, but it's been fixed now and without evidence to the contrary I'm going to pretend that never happened. To make sure you do the same, let me try a bait and switch: look, a cliffhanger! Isn't that nice?

Yeah, Tonks found out. Kind of awkward after the whole 'do you trust me'-thing, right?

Meanwhile, I've come to realise that Tonks and Harry have a lot of things in common. Just like Harry, she's amazingly stubborn ("don't call me Nymphadora") and if she wants something she can pursue that with a dogged determination that is... kind of frightening (Remus Lupin). Helping someone no matter what they say about it is definitely Harry's cup of tea. The reverse, however, having help forced on him, is very much unexpected.

Seeing as how it's the holiday season and I am quite proud of having produced 150k+ words already, I decided to celebrate and get myself a gift: brainthief now has a account. If you like this stuff and want to support me as an author, now you have the option. Any support whatsoever will help in justifying why I'm neglecting other things in favour of writing fanfiction. If it takes off, it may even motivate me to neglect more than I do currently: I will spend more time writing. Since FFNet is jealous of other websites to the point of spurning links I feel the need to add a description: I'm called brainthief at the website. (_._com/brainthief)

Recommendation: Time to Put Your Galleons Where Your Mouth Is by Tsume Yuki. Master-of-Death Harry is reborn as Turais Black, brother to Sirius and Regulus. Knowing what will happen to the two brothers, he decides to... meddle.

Happy holidays!

Thank you for your thoughts.  
-brainthief


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